a kind of sludge that distorts perception, motion, and planning. It’s unclear to me how I feel, what my plans are, what my status is, what tomorrow will look like, what tomorrow ought to look like.
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I have tentatively finished the first of two field statements, cutting it from about 70 pages down to 35. It ought to feel good, but it feels tremendously neutral, like turning a doorknob or putting gas in your car.
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The walls these days are anthropomorphic and their boredom with me is extreme. In response I am happy not to look at them, as people often (don’t) do with walls.
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I have to become who I was just a few short months ago. I am slipping away from myself again, due, no doubt, to the kinds of circumstances that surround me today—circumstances with which I have not yet learned, despite decades of trying, to live.
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Mental note: look up “discipline” in a thesaurus in an attempt to come to some metaphorical understanding of just what it might be.