Good Grief 296

Emily continues to be my theme of the moment.
When I finished work today, even though it had been an effort to get in and stay in work, with my head in what seemed like a vice and a feeling of sick despair, I came out and decided to get in the fresh air. I could have stopped at any point ... and just stopped. The impetus to continue forward motion, to propel my body into the next 'frame' of existence seems to be immense and the desire to just stop and just wait for my body to be consumed by maggots is overwhelming. The weight, the physical weight and effort of propulsion feels like that of the Sisyphean rock. It's like existing on a planet that looks the same but with a gravity that is countless times heavier, the air is viscous and like sucking through a straw and movement echoes in the body with a sense of a crushing collapse from an unseen external pressure bearing down - like watching those horror movies of ships sinking and hearing that yawning groan as it goes down and the sheer pressure of water against steel crushes everything within.
And yet, pounding uphill, and then sliding into peaty water ... a sudden weightlessness and a brief, late, sun shimmered dream.