I would love to be able to write about life experiences like this (and to write to beautifully about it) or to have something interesting to say like this or to be creative and funny like this insightly, intelligent like this - but no. Right now I have nothing.
Vacant.
How did this happen? Am I really so defined by working that without it I disappear?
Enough, I should see this time as an opportunity; not just to sort out my wardrobe but to read and discover and care. However my ennui is taking over (as per) and The Procrastinator is back (wonder if I could get a costume for that - no real super hero abilities other than the ability to waste a whole day sat on arse on sofa in the window watching rubbish and spending time on the 'puter - I digress).
So perhaps today will be different, perhaps today I will find my inner achiever and get something worthwhile done.
I'll just have another cup of coffee first.
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