I haven’t felt much like writing because I haven’t felt much like eating: stomach too coiled up to give way to hunger. The sticky confluence of small, private sorrows and large, unfolding catastrophes have sapped my strength and my appetite. I am tired all the time, even when my sleep is uninterrupted. Every day, my energy dips to ruinous levels by early afternoon. All I want is to lie in bed in the blurry half-light of not-quite-consciousness.
Nothing doing
Nothing doing
Nothing doing
I haven’t felt much like writing because I haven’t felt much like eating: stomach too coiled up to give way to hunger. The sticky confluence of small, private sorrows and large, unfolding catastrophes have sapped my strength and my appetite. I am tired all the time, even when my sleep is uninterrupted. Every day, my energy dips to ruinous levels by early afternoon. All I want is to lie in bed in the blurry half-light of not-quite-consciousness.