Que?
I’ve been out of sorts for the last few days. I’m not sure what’s got me all knotted up exactly, but it’s making me scatterbrained and weepy. It’s not that deep soul-crushing, black tar pit depression it’s more of a doleful woe, like my inner light has been smothered by a wet blanket. Nothing more required but another match to relight, really. The lamp isn’t broken, just out. Thing is I feel like I’m not capable of much else other than staring wistfully out the window recalling the warmth.
It’s not entirely miserable is the thing, it’s more like a mercurial ennui.
I’m melancholy. I’ve got Melancholic, even. Gripe water, anyone?
In the midst of all this I’ve discovered that if you put a kettle on for some tea and find yourself getting ratty because it’s been 10 minutes and the thing hasn’t made a peep, you should probably turn the stove on first. I hear heat helps with that boiling thing.
