I bent down to retrieve Wendy Cope and plunged my hand into a fizz of spiders webs.
Rest assured, all lovers of Wendy, she has re-surfaced fine and well.
I am rather less so. Exhausted and not just wanting to try (unsuccessfully) to sleep and rest until it all starts all over again. The endless broken nights of sweats and wakefulness deplete the day. Most of the week spent tearful and eying up lay-bys where I might just stop and decide to call in sick. An isolated week of batterings, beatings, random acts of abuse or unconscious systemic neglect, of major strokes, of despair, of the incessant struggle and plight of humanity, of small successes, of a hug and a handshake of gratitude, of shared mutual acknowledgment of our absurd and chaotic swirling human soup, and of failing to keep to task...’too [fucking] empathic’. Arriving at a crying crescendo when I finally finished and left the empty corridors of the building last night, I thought about things I might do for a change of scene but the dire weather and absence of oomph soon knocked any little avenues of pleasure on the head ... https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=GTibvNMIwkY

I am wary of ‘doth protesting too much’ as railing against failure may well be a case of not confronting being shit at it...which I’ve always suspected and believed all along anyway. I don’t really need anyone to echo the siren song.