No yoke

In the early hours, Lee and I talked about an Act, a moment of will, an overcoming through which we'll cast off boredom and woolly headedness like dead skin.

We're both like-minded on the subject and I for one am sick of talking and writing about it. We’ve both fallen into a deep rut and every task seems to require an immense effort and usually defeats us (Lee describes it as feeling as if a yoke has been slipped over his shoulders when he’s not looking). This is Enemy Number One, the Big Disease, like the Plague only worse because it eats away its victims on the inside.

I trudge on through day after day of grey routine with blank mind and knotted heart wanting a discipline, needing a discipline to take away the uselessness and knock this cotton wool stuffing from behind my eyes.

Only occasionally do I surface to give notice of my anger and frustrations in these few scattered and ill-wrought lines.