There is a growing sense of unreality about everything. I stare at the notes I have just transcribed from my last interview of the year and cannot make head or tail of it. How do I write the story?
I'm too tired to goreng. But it's like part of me has disengaged and is sitting back and watching everything. That part of me is tired, bored, weary, half asleep. It's saying, so long, and thank you for playing, I need to go somewhere now.
And the other part is saying, wait, wait, I have this story to finish and some other stuff to edit and the Christmas baskets to complete and cakes to bake and and and...
The other part sighs and says, ok, maybe I'll give you a couple of weeks. Do what you have to do.
But don't be all year about it.
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