It's a quiet habit Ive picked up along this whole "waiting for my life to start" ordeal.
I sit on the porch with a pack, reveling in the unusually cold winds and still quiet of suburbia, only sirens and the occasional bark cutting through.
Stewing in some thought, I guess. It's not a healthy habit, the opposite, but it keeps me from being entirely in of my own mind past 10 pm. An escape from the drivel of waiting for my move, waiting for something to finally be worth the trouble.