Loading
APATHY
Waking, you sag. Fatigue is different: the body, like steps receding in a hallway lined with shoes, ignores all invitations. Now—a concept without edges, without relief-you live in frozen violence, like two stags twinned by antlers. You are an eye paralyzed in mid-blink. You call it ennui: you are always a hero in The History of Ideas. But your bed runs north and south in a room whose length runs east and west, and you notice such things, and there is no joy in them. It is not that you know too much, for the earth whirs under you imperceptibly, turning, and we must shift for ourselves. It is the stifle, the sludge, the tongue with its surface pebbled like a basketball's. Courage is necessary to begin; finally, you need skill. I know how you feel, offers the Red Cross Voice, and There's little I can do to help you.
When you wake up, you feel sluggish. Being tired is different: your body, like footsteps fading away in a hallway full of shoes, ignores all calls. Now—a vague idea, without clear boundaries, without comfort—you exist in a state of frozen conflict, like two deer stuck together by their antlers. You are an eye stuck mid-blink. You call it boredom: you always see yourself as a hero in the story of ideas. But your bed is placed north to south in a room that stretches east to west, and you notice these things, but they bring no happiness. It's not that you know too much, because the earth spins beneath you without you noticing, and we must adapt on our own. It's the suffocation, the sludge, the tongue with a surface rough like a basketball. You need bravery to start; eventually, you need skill. I understand how you feel, says the Red Cross Voice, but there's not much I can do to help you.