Long days of late.  Longer weekend.  I can’t shake the feeling of it, can’t convince myself that the week has begun, that my attitude should change.  It’s all a construct, my schedule now nearly completely my own, so there’s no shock at the occasional failure of my belief in it.  I woke up three times today.  I don’t remember my dreams.

I haven’t eaten much and have been light-headed all evening.  I don’t feel woozy or any physical awkwardness that the term suggests.  Instead, I have greater trouble believing in reality.  Perhaps with my stomach empty I fill up with madness, or that mad part of me becomes stronger for being less dilute.  Maybe I’ve just got low blood sugar.

Nothing seems to change.  No word on the job, no word on any pieces.  No new submissions, no snow, no difference since the leaves fell and blew away to disintegrate into nothing somewhere out of sight.  Just the slow angry wind and the stiff, still green grass frozen in place, unable to move.

This sort of immortality isn’t ideal, one would rather live through the times than have them fixed so that eternity is the same song played on repeat, but at least it’s not a decline.

Maybe if I got more sleep and had a proper meal things wouldn’t seem so topsy-turvy, but then, where’s the fun in seeing reality as it is?

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