I sit in front of a blank computer screen. It’s not that the words won’t come; the images don’t come. I am inert. Not one molecule of my body interacts with the world.

The mundane things I must do today, things that people do effortlessly without a thought, seem like a mountain to climb for me. What stupor has taken hold of me that makes it so I cannot say. Some days I free fall; other days I climb.

I am who I think I ain’t. I cannot avoid the other question though today. Who am I then? I suppose I am the man who sends postcards into the void and nothing more.

Published in: on March 7, 2008 at 9:50 am  Leave a Comment  

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