Fatigue

Returning to fertile territory. That’s the aim. I am in those plains, no, those fields, those gorgeous, juicy, green, oh so green fields every so often, and I want to be there now. How do I make my way? Where even is this elusive destination? Where is it now? It changes with time, it roams, it hides behind clouds of fatigue. This now, I will find it.

The NHS suggests moving, like exercise, but faux exercise even, like a walk, or many jumps in a row. They suggest water and no caffeine, but the caffeine part was too lately read, for I had drunk a coffee when I walked into the home. So the caffeine is ruled out, the water can still be drunk though.

Star jumps or jumping jacks or whatever name the action owns, they’re first, with some running on the spot, and some walking around, and some pushing the ground down, or pushing my body up, however the science works. I do those movements and I drink some water. That was the very recent past. I’ll drink some more water now.

Finished the glass. Well, almost. I never get to the bottom of glasses of drink. I have a problem with putting all the liquid inside me. I have a fear. I’m afraid of the bottom of the liquid. I wonder if there is some sort of solid or dirt or disease at the bottom of the drink. I leave that little bit. It’s strange.

Water is drunk and writing is commenced. Before, when I came in, when I felt the fatigue, when I felt the inability to write, I wandered, and fell, fell onto my bed, closed my eyes, stilled my body, and water came to my eyes. I wasn’t crying, it was my body. I wasn’t sad, it was just my body. It just needed to water my eyes. Maybe my body was sad and cried…

But anyway, I was there laying, and trying to think, trying to not be tired, trying to find an idea, trying to replenish the creativity. And then I needed to send a message.

I wonder if my phone breaks my eyes, but I haven’t used it much today, I hadn’t used it much at all before coming home. I wonder now though, as I fight against the dying light, with the clouds a greyblue, with the streetlights on, with the streets low on volume - after all it is a sunday, off to work tomorrow, we are - and this sun, this laptop screen, beams into my eyes. I wonder if the laptop is killing me.

Well, I've put some words together now, and I’m feeling more energised. This way of rapid typing and half-incoherence brings the energy. The rapidity charges my brain, it winds and winds the wind-up torch. I’m ready to write, and I think I've written this before. I did this before, didn’t I? Oh well, all we are are beings who repeat ourselves. Constant repetition is we. We, the individuals. Individually blessed with our one circuit, our one way of be. This is a pause. Log off. For I see the moon needs me. A day is not far away…

[30.07.2023]