It occurs to me that work has become nothing more than a collection of unpleasant experiences between cigarette breaks.


Being sick only serves to remind me how aggravating the physical experience can be.

This, coupled with money woes, and the general lack of interest in the world that cold medications bestow, can cause life to seem quite lackluster at times.

Not that all is lost; it is easy to find inspiration in a grey world, as anything with a light to it stands out against the background, but the difficulties of working with it seem to make the effort not entirely worthwhile.


Observation: Being unable to draw a full breath really strips the fight out of you.