Day 12. Still in my pj’s.
When the sun rises, all seems possible. When the sun sets, all starts to seem impossible.
It’s as if the sun takes all possibility with it at the end of the day.
Better luck tomorrow, says the sun.
The days around here are merging together like a snowball tumbling downhill and gaining momentum. Except the snowball just keeps on rolling—rolling, rolling, rolling—down an endless mountainside and there’s no end, no valley floor in sight.
Oh, and the snowball is not gaining in size, or girth, either. It’s not collecting snow as it goes, the snowball is just simply staying the same, in perpetuity. Neither growing nor shrinking. For ever and ever, over and over, ass over teakettle, until the end of time.
Today and every day is Groundhog Day.
- Wake up.
- Drink coffee.
- Brush teeth. Or not. *
- Log onto the internet.
- Do some ‘work.’
- Go into the kitchen, open the refrigerator door, stare into the brightly lit abyss.
- Close refrigerator door.
- Pour glass of seltzer.
- Spill something.
- Debate whether to clean up immediately. *
- Wrap scarf around neck.
- Pull on chunky socks.
- Go back to desk.
- Stare into not so brightly lit depths of internet for another four hours or so.
- Where did I leave my glasses?
- Search for glasses.
- Contemplate going to gym.
- Take shower. Or not. *
- Take nap.
- Write daily blog post.
- Brush teeth before bed (non-negotiable, must maintain some level of decency).
- Crawl under covers.
- Fall asleep to mediation tape.
- Repeat steps one 1 – 23.
* No sense of urgency. No one to notice. In fact, there’s no sense of urgency in anything at the moment.
This little (non-political) ditty by the Washington Post ‘Drunk Biology’ is too good to ignore. See below.