I'm here a week now... waiting for a mission... getting softer. Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker...
I can't write. It has been a month since I've wrote anything of substance.
All the old standbys have failed. Music, reading, booze...the weather has almost helped...but it is this room. This room traps me. A windowless, lightless hell. I wake up - the clock says 9am (morning)...it could be 11pm for all I know. Light barely filters through these narrow, thick windows. Is it raining? It is shining bright? Has the world ended? I do not know...until I walk upstairs.
I cannot go on like this.
I have taken to watching movies when I go to bed now (I never needed this before!!). 'Sherlock Holmes' is a favourite. Holmes at one point says something close to "My mind rebels at stagnation, give me data, give me problems"
That is how I feel.
I need something to get my mind out of this rut. Books have not done it. I haven't been able to write. I do not want to demean myself to a nowhere job, but I feel unconfident about my chances at jobs I want. I am in between. I am liminal. Two paths are lay before me...the one I am one (alcohol, stagnation, dullness) or the path of action.
My fear
I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor. That's my dream; that's my nightmare. Crawling, slithering, along the edge of a straight razor... and surviving.
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