... and not liking it. Not one bit.
It's Monday, and kaffyr is whining. The universe is running as it should.
I cannot seem to move, friends. I cannot move my brain. I cannot get neurons to fire. I cannot think past the next computer game (minesweeper is my current favorite.)
I cannot write, although I must.
I cannot edit, although I must.
I cannot deal with Real Life, although I must. (The phrase "old credit card debt returns to the front door to serve up unpleasant surprises" is all I shall declare, and you will remain blessedly information free hereafter.)
I cannot, in short, remove my conceptual ass from the theoretical dime, to get things done what must get done.
I believe I've mentioned this moral shortcoming before, as it is, most unfortunately, a recurring problem.
My brain conjectures about the reasons, in an idle fashion (idle being the only fashion in which it can operate, apparently).
Conjecture, however, don't pay the intellectual rent.
I don't like being asleep all the time, and I don't know how to change it, right now.