Humdrum writing from a humdrum life
My life, in a word, is Boring. Nothing more, nothing less. Bending over the rusted railing, I search for the sight of land, or even just a horizon. I'm not asking for much, am I? But the sky does not listen and the sea does not hear, and I can see only an endless expanse of blue, blue-green nothingness. No change. Nor ever will there be. I feel somber and sober and tired. The dullness of everything is threatening to consume my last slivers of sanity, as I crawl upon this infinite desert of inchoate sand, my mind filled with inchoate thoughts, my heart leaking black oil upon the golden sand. Where is the oasis? Or the peak of the dune? Give me some beauty, that I may breathe it in and survive for another day. Utter exhaustion. Fatigue. Worn-down. Too many little things are dragging me down into a quagmire of emotionlessness. Oh, the paradox of it!
