What a miserable week this has been. A week measured not in named days, but spans of apprehension and unrest. The 15 hours of sleep last night might be considered a reprieve, however I awoke to the same tremulous existence, with an attached cloud of grogginess.
Two days ago we had an unexpected visit from old friends. However much appreciated, such visits serve as touchstones marking the distance between the waking world and myself. A gap that widens with passing years.
I am not granted the solace of muted madness, or rather I refuse it, choosing instead to create a virtual world - built only inches ahead of my next footstep - expending every scrap of energy I can muster. This virtual world, when placed side by side with reality, is an embarrassing forgery. 'But look,' I say, 'at the wonderful Oompa Loompas dancing in my workshop', but my steady friend can only muster the slightest acknowledgment while eyeing an opportunity for escape.
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- This is only a passing item, a larger than expected wave that breaks and disrupts the ocean's edge for a moment, then is forgotten. The Oompa Loompas must be fed, tended and rearranged for the task at hand, building footpaths into oblivion.
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