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When I get like this I have no words. I hate having no words - it means it's all trapped inside. I'd email, if I could. Maybe.
I'll be alright next week. It's not working this week that made it worse. I'm better when I'm busy... And of course the let-down after holding it in all summer...
Well, being in a bad place is not always a bad thing. I'll get through this and I'll be better for it.
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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