Every once in a while, I have these days. Of utter nothings. I am sure you have them too.
They are not necessarily Sundays or Saturdays. And they definitely don't start at a comfortable five in the evening. They are normal full-fledged working days which begin as soon as you unsleep for the first time in the day.
Yesterday was one such Day of Utter Nothing.
It hit me. Smack in the middle of an average hectic undergraduate week. Left me so so off balance. Tottering. And as always - suicidal, but for the memory of.
I awoke. And then awoke. And was finally awake at noon. Then the nothings. One after the other. You can't help it. It is worse than sleepwalking. Because you are perfectly conscious. Skipped lunch. Avoided company. Sent people away. Stared at the wall. Read something about an ubearable lightness or so. Let the phone ring.
Basically left one day of my life blank. Maybe it is a space, between two chapters. Maybe it is only a space between two words. Deliberately streched out into a vast void. The book, is only written once. Maybe. Maybe I am too tired of writing.
But in all probabilities I am just writing a lot of fancy lies to cover up my chronic dumbass laziness. I have a thing for masks and self destruction.
Sometimes I wish I were not so stranded. These strands never intertwine. Each one stretching out, like an infinite arm of the sun. With me in the center. Alone, unarmed. And burning.
There is no one to blame. Maybe.