About 3pm, I become aware of the fragile line between survival and death. Sat at the computer for over six hours straight, staring at commas, my mind is in stupor. I am overcome with a sensation that my face is rigid and my body hollow. I may be entering a catatonic state. I have forgotten why I breathe.
I must find displacement activity or die. The least traumatic method to bring myself back to life is visit Ikea. That is a slow nudge from the states of torpor to the place of barely conscious. Here, in a slow and painful journey, I drag my typesetter's carcass from the halls of the undead to the land of the nearly living. On the way, to mark my existence, I photograph bookshelves.
It helps. By 5pm, after a small struggle, I can photograph a tree.
By 6pm I can breathe unaided and photograph this scrap of felt. I find it on the landing, like the droppings from a crafter.
At last, I am almost fully alive! Finally, I am able to conduct a photographic session in homage to Harry Worth circa 1962.
Yes, I am recovered, but for what purpose? Tomorrow I must face the abyss of pointlessness once more, and typeset 50,000 words on validation instrument testing of instructional materials for chemists.
1 comment:
Crafter's droppings and a Harry Worth tribute. I'd say that was more than a day's worth of achievement. I'd be very proud. Especially fitting this around an Ikea visit. I am feeling my once-every-three-years Swedish jab brewing. I am fighting it but my shoes under the bed are crying out in the night that cardboard boxes (ie shoe boxes) are not enough - 'we need canvas and cellophane and we need it now' - can you hear them too? Tie me to the mast!!!.....
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