I’m worried. Very, very worried. Around me, the house is amiss. Not a mess, just a miss. Like a slight misalignment in the way I’d like things to be. So perfectly reflective of the state of my mind. A miss. Not in order. Troubled. Not in any frame of mind to do something constructive. I cannot get myself to clean up, pick up after me and move on. I want to sit and brood. Mope. Sulk. Crib.
A deadline looms larger than life. With some serious consequences, if it is not met. Yet I wait, with no hopes of inspiration coming my way, for last minute panic to hit. And even that seems to elude me.
So I wait some more. A miss. While the mess around me and in my head takes on gargantuan proportions. At one level I’m just so effing fed up of feeling this way. And yet I don’t want to do something and get it over with.
When did it get like this? When did I get so uncaring.
When did sincerity morph into complacence and settle like a nice big knot of worry on my brow. And all I can think of is catching the next show of Cocktail. Anything to get my mind off the impossible task on hand.
When did I get so blase? So unthinking. So horribly stuck. So fucking jaded that the lines between work and life have begun to blur. And the mess that is work is creeping into life.