While taking lunch today, I was asked by the counterwoman whether I was tired. Indeed I was, but I did not realize it until she asked me. That quickly spiraled into a full blown state of general blah (and the additional slowness and melancholy induced by the Bach solo violin which I had been listening to on my walk), and even a visit to the used bookstore (that steady companion and provider of amusements and possibilities) could not inject me with any real energy. You could say that it is as if I have been suffering from a three day hangover, although I haven't drank anything except the usual water, sparkling water and a diet soda or two for three days now. Who knows?
I thought of the fellow in the portrait by Arthur Devis of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Bull, if you know it- a most peculiar imagery amidst the lux environs, as if someone slipped it in there as a bit of a lark.
How far and away things seem today, as if my usual ways were spinning ever so slightly off track, audible only to me. A stolen nap for an hour didn't quite help, and maybe another is needed- either that, or one or two whiskeys on the rocks. After all, a limited edition bottle is waiting just around the corner (i.e, in my stock)...
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| ever detached, off, and somewhere else- a place far away from myself |
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