Mental Paralysis

Still. Frozen, almost. As immobile as a railing in winter - the kind that your hand tries to stick to because of the frost.

I've tried to get my mind going to post something here but it just hasn't happened. No matter what's happened in the great big, wide, you-betcha world, there's been nothing to come trip-trapping out of the keyboard and onto the page. My mind hasn't really been stirred by the horror of a man's alternative to the democratic process, a voice being finally stilled, or by England winning one of the most exciting Test Matches I remember. My heart has, but not the creative synapses within my addled brain.

So this is now early Wednesday morning on the second week of my holiday. My reason for reason is thousands of miles away and a sultry night is drifting all around me. I'd give a lot for a thunderstorm right now, and I'd sure as certain be going for a walk in it. Yep, sure as certain. Right here and now. Not that it's going to happen. I'd be able to smell it if there was any good Irish rain nearby and I can't so there isn't.

There's the distant sound of cars trundling along. I can hear the occasional student as well. Always students. There's only about three hours out of the 24 that there isn't the sound of students. I remember the days when I could cheerfully have partied until the wee small hours and then functioned satisfactorily the next day. Those days are long gone, now, as are many things that I miss less.

The window is already as wide as it'll go but I'll try to force it a little wider. I'll stand there for a minute or two, hoping to catch a sweet breeze floating down from Airport Hill. And then I'll try to sleep. Again.