In fact, I'm not even sure that it is sadness. I'm not even sure if its a feeling at all; rather: a lack of feeling, an emptiness, a vacancy of moroseness.
I have nothing to do - no friends to meet, no games to play, nothing entirely. I have no motivation to work, either. I just want to get to night-time and sleep away into tomorrow morning.
Maybe I could just do with a cigarette.
Maybe all I need is an evening with Barthes.
"I never recognized her except in fragments".
The other day I was in my garden. I plucked a few posies that had come up early. The colours were vibrant and vivid. I arranged a handful of purple, orange and yellow into a small decanter filled with water and placed it on my sill. That was a few days ago. Now the flowers are bent over and sad. They are either dead or dying. The vivid colours have sunk. The petals have turned inward, collapsing.
I haven't a photo for you today. I'm sorry for that.
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