June 6, 2010
Long slow Sundays, time drifting by in waves. Sometimes hot and slow and sleepy. Sometimes too quick to see, running and sprinting and panting. Too far too fast. Too slow to breath. Sticky and sweaty, board but far, far too busy. Singular motion. Tired not sleepy. No way, no wind, no room to breath. Hungry, but the idea of food disgusts. Work, work, work, continual waves of frightened fear. Too scared to see. Open your eyes, but I'm much too tired. A doormouse day. Dormant and deadly. Trudging through sludge. Hot, slow, gasping breaths, there's not enough air...