Friday, October 25, 2002
It strikes me today how sad I've become. Yet how insiduous the process has been. I alternate between calm serenity (odd, considering the ridiculously hectic yet unproductive routine I have in my job - or rather, productive for everyone but myself) and sheer depression. Ennui, and bittersweet reminiscence. I remember how I once was acutely aware of how sad I was, every day. Is this any better? I'm sliding, and I don't know how far I'm going to slide, but I'm doing it ever so calmly, and ever so slowly. Maybe there is reason, after all in having a gag-reflex. Maybe we thrash about when we know we're sinking because we want to survive. Far less alarming if you're slowly immersed a centimetre more at a time, till you're up to your neck in it.
I need to think less. I need to spend less time writing on these pages. Or am I writing here because I'm thinking more?
I need to think less. I need to spend less time writing on these pages. Or am I writing here because I'm thinking more?
