Hoped that this morning I'd wake, feel fresh, turn over a new leaf, start anew, find another cliché to live by, but I still feel crap. very low. I think I'm living in the tail of that bug, the same bug that made Berlin look grey and wet and uninteresting and made me feel like I was eighty-eight and shouldn't be out.
I browsed through "Staying Alive" last night and this morning; found a lovely poem by Richard Wilbur (A Summer Morning.)
Got up around seven, caught up with admin, sorted out prompts for Boot Camp and here, posted them. There's a competition in Wales, ABOUT Wales, CD the end of the month, so that I MUST enter, and there are a whole string of poetry comps that I want to punt at too.
Yes, personally, I'm running on empty, but I know this is an illusion. All it takes is one pleasing line and I'll be off again.
And I need a coffee.
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