I haven't been writing much because I'm too cold. I feel like death warmed over.
Its an icy chill that numbs me. It starts at my feet, seeping into my souls from cold, tiled floor, and it flows up through my veins to my skull. And there it holds claim to my mind.
When I try to push back it strikes me down with fear and apathy and that terrible truth that you just can't get past. The truth that it really doesn't matter either way.
You can't beat that argument or reason your way through. The best you can do is ignore it, and you can only do that when you have control of your mind.
When you don't have control of your mind you can't ignore it, and so it hollows every act and makes them easy prey to the hammers of apathy and fear.
Shattered potentials making a mess of my room.
So yes, there you go, but all that isn't really true, except by metaphor and even that is more conjecture then not.
I really just can't think of anything to say.
I think I read too much. It keeps me from thinking.
I can't really read and think at the same time. I can only do one or the other. So when I'm feeling lazy and frightened, when I hold myself captive, I read vorociously.
And that keeps me from writing, because I don't have a thing to say.
Hopefully I will soon.
- posted by Sigurd5/03/2005 09:56:00 PM