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Lethargy sweeps over me.
**AGAIN!**
I am a sponge for stifling burdens which weigh. I cannot even stumble under them since I am perpetually sitting in **bed**. A move to the *office* may be in order. I shall try that tactic tomorrow. Oh, and when I write *sponge*, I do not mean *sponge* in the sense of, like my friend Christián Newman, having the intellect of a sponge, but instead having the capability to absorb the lackadaisical atmosphere of *West Texas*.
I once wrote a short story. It may still exist on the hard drive which has sat wanting to be recovered for üksteist aastat. In it, I write about the Texas summer and how it fills one with despair and squeezes all creative energy from the brain - that **sponge**. When the brain is released from its grip, it inflates, but this time is filled with a dread laziness. An inability to move, to create, or even pace the floor. One thanks the good lord Jesus for air conditioning at this point. Winter is the creative season in Texas. But may I be far far away (in Estonia!) by the time that it comes around.
I need to
Study Estonian
Finish this *Lovecraft* story
Muddle up something which seems important at the time
Start puttering around with dotcloud
But first I must take a broken down lamp to its final resting place: the dumpster.
@flavigula@sonomu.club
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0
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