The longest month
August 27, 2007This is as close to burning out as I’ll ever get. A dozen things to be done each day, shedding questions and missives as I slip through rooms like a ghost, pale, a shadow of my former self, blinking and half-aware. Very little fazes me, not deadlines, imaginary or otherwise, every face roaring by, closer than trains passing in a tunnel, but deathly quiet. In the unused living room, an entire dining table piled a metre high with books, and more in the boot, and at my desk, and soon I will be moving home, starting afresh, unburdened, and finally able to say, hello.






