Anything I do is like sleepwalking. The house gets cleaned. The dishes get done. I pass time. I've no idea how any of this happens. I forget things the moment after they come into my head. The time it takes to open a notebook and grab a pen (both of which are in every room), what I wanted to write down is gone.
I've tried writing poetry, but it really sucks, so I'm taking a break from it.
I'm in stasis with my websites, not feeling really inspired, and trying to get one back that I rage deleted. But I'm not even working on phoenixwillrise.com. It's waiting for me.
It's all just so hard. I don't cook anymore. Which reminds me, I need to put a roast in. Oh, too late, I WILL do it tomorrow. I'll even take the roast out and wash and repackage it. I have to eat it fresh, I do not like left overs. And I have Chinese food left over for the next time I eat. Yes, I see the contradiction. Chinese food is in a class all its own.
Doc tries to lead me to my memories using little verbal clues and devices. It frustrates us both, but sometimes it works, so I wouldn't dream of asking him to stop.
Okay, that's all I can do. And I'll have to re-read it four times before I post it. And if you ask me about it hours from now, I will deny doing it.