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An Appeal To Isaac Newton
Sep. 21st, 2004 11:55 amI slept for nearly 10 hours last night but today I feel like I barely slept at all. My muscles ache and my brain is struggling to grasp familiar concepts. If this is just a virus it had better hurry up and go away. Work is getting demanding and I have much to do if only my mind would cooperate.
Alex is still sick. Probably the same virus though he is worst hit. A week off work means a week without income for the boy. Budget blow-outs all round with weddings, doctors and cars leeching funds at every opportunity means things will be lean, but not before much needed holidays.
I need my energy to return – there is so much I need to accomplish in short time, with much more I want to achieve as well. At present the days consists of work and sleep, nothing left over to keep life under control. My house has never been such a mess. Plants are dying, left un-potted, clean washing isn’t put away and the paperwork mountain keeps growing. The greater the chaos the greater the inertia. No force remains for Newtonian relationships, only an absence of will and this tiredness, sweeping valleys of fatigue sending me down, down into listless impotence.
More blood tests await, more doctors’ bills as I search for a spring-board to lift me back up. A virus? Depression? An un-diagnosed genetic malfunction? There is hope still: a doctor who listens with serious eyes and respectful intelligence, warm arms wrapped around me on quiet evenings, moments of clarity and determination forming footholds for a journey out of here. And I am reaching…
Alex is still sick. Probably the same virus though he is worst hit. A week off work means a week without income for the boy. Budget blow-outs all round with weddings, doctors and cars leeching funds at every opportunity means things will be lean, but not before much needed holidays.
I need my energy to return – there is so much I need to accomplish in short time, with much more I want to achieve as well. At present the days consists of work and sleep, nothing left over to keep life under control. My house has never been such a mess. Plants are dying, left un-potted, clean washing isn’t put away and the paperwork mountain keeps growing. The greater the chaos the greater the inertia. No force remains for Newtonian relationships, only an absence of will and this tiredness, sweeping valleys of fatigue sending me down, down into listless impotence.
More blood tests await, more doctors’ bills as I search for a spring-board to lift me back up. A virus? Depression? An un-diagnosed genetic malfunction? There is hope still: a doctor who listens with serious eyes and respectful intelligence, warm arms wrapped around me on quiet evenings, moments of clarity and determination forming footholds for a journey out of here. And I am reaching…
