the air was so cold this morning, it hurt to breathe. every lungful like swallowing an icicle. i was late for work again (i pretty much always am) and striding roadside top speed thinking: why do i even bother?
yesterday was a void. eight hours compressed into a yawn. all useful work completed before lunch, and no internal monologue, no inspiration, abuse of downtime to scribble something interesting, to think thru a problem. just the most B.A.S.I.C. fantasy daydreams, as empty of actual content as screensavers, or lullabyes.
less than ten days to go, and i still have't bought so much as a single present. wandered aimlessly around shops, saturday PM, but was so washed-out and empty that all i cd do was lurk in bookshops and bob about in human tide.
neither have i managed to get big play to next stage, as promised self last week... socializing near-constantly, and hungover in between. there's a kind of fatigue that seems to incrementally increase - the body grows ever heavier, as if it were letting in water. last nite all i was fit for was watching teevee with driver and lexxy, a programme on feral children, all that stood between me and blessed sleep.