A late start, regrettably, but I needed the sleep. Yesterday I was dumb and angry, with thoughts of such viscosity that they could not be separated from themselves.
There is something to be told here, something about reading. How I have abandoned, necessarily, books in order to continue working at this pace. Having allowed myself to regress for a week at the beginning of last month, following illness, I made the mistake of buying literature. Some of this literature was talked about here, most of it was read with the urge to then report and explore it on this blog. Indeed, this blog was formed with two things in mind; the documentation of my time before I went away (it started with 63 days to go), the reactivation of a critical mind long lost beneath spreadsheets, letters of agreement and hastily written copy.
Now time has subsided. The abatement of critical writing holds a direct correlation with what my family fondly call ‘real work’. And I’ve become agitated as a result, wishing that I had never known this devil at all. I’m not even tearing through my novel as I was – what optimism struck on that train ride from Brighton to Gatwick some weeks ago! And now it is gone. The devil fears that it is only temporary though, Berlin looms and that is the chance.
Once again, it is time for local politics to take centre stage within parliament. Once again I will vote, feeling as though I should not waste this rare opportunity where I am asked an opinion and someone, somewhere, counts my X. it is a two-horse race here, with Liberal Democrats and Labour having only thirty votes between them last time. All the other parties clamour to keep the BNP out of third place. This is the state of the ward’s address…