52/317-318: Oh Drear

Saturday and Sunday were both days of sleep, of not wanting to get out from under the cozy covers, and when I did get out not getting anything done. The days are seeming drear and the nights full of an unserene quiet. Maybe this will change, maybe it won't. Lying abed awake or asleep it doesn't matter. There is just the indeterminate hour passing imperceptibly. Maybe I go back to sleep, maybe I don't. Once it's done I can't tell the difference. At some point I get hungry, and at some point the hunger becomes more unpleasant than eating, then I get up and eat. With luck, the eating makes me sleepy again, and the cycles repeat. How much longer, who knows? I care less every day.


( Late Sunday Verse )