After a couple of days in limbo, Doc40 is back. I haven’t joined the ghost riders in the sky and all is about as functional as functional can be in this dysfunctional epoch. For the last few days my weariness has amazed me, and the ancient empty street has definitely been too dead for any productive dreaming. About all it could do was to provide an excuse to simply stop, to halt production, temporarily and petulantly to cease and desist, claiming a bone aching sense of obligation to embargo all systems while I rested and recuperated, lurking in the bell tower of a disengaged imagination, and ignoring a fear of repeating myself, while holding circular conversations of dubious profundity with Finnegan the Cat, and petulantly refusing so much as to touch a keyboard or mouse until my ergonomically challenged back has stopped hurting. But then the emails began to arrive, politely enquiring if I was dead or merely working on something else, and, I find myself loath to admit that I am, in fact, militantly doing nothing apart emitting groans and watching some very bad television in a prone position.
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The secret word is Recovery
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2 comments:
I suggest you try to make an appointment with a chiropractor if at all possible... best of luck feeling better, get well soon.
It's OK. Just remember language is a virus from outer space.
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