In the above photo you see a member of the species psychrolutes marcidus, the lugubrious-looking blob fish, so called for being a lugubrious-looking blob-shaped fish. The name is therefore most apt. They live in deep waters between Australia and Tasmania, where they don't do an awful lot. Take a good look, for they are endangered and pretty soon you'll have to learn to live without them. Lately, I've been feeling pretty much the way he looks.
Rhinoviruses like me. If a bunch of them is hanging out and they see me walking past, they make a beeline for me. It seems my respiratory tract is most congenial to any bug whose speciality is infecting the sinuses or inflaming the throat. All week I have been streaming and sneezing and coughing, and you cannot teach in this condition without causing offence. It'd be like unrestrainedly belching and farting in a restaurant. I’ve been stuck in the house and lost a lot of money.
Does this explain why I feel so very flat? I don’t know if it does. I want a change in my life but there’s the thing: what exactly do I want to change? My job bores me, but it pays well. I spend far too much time alone, but for me any time spent in company has to be offset by at least twice that length of time in solitude or I feel overwhelmed. I live in a cramped flat in a beautiful town. I could move to a spacious flat in an ugly town and be nearer to work, saving a lot of money on train fares. But how much longer will my present job last? I have moved something like eighteen times in the past twenty years, and when I move again, I want to stay put for a substantial period of time.
Even my dreams are dull as boiled cabbage. I used to dream richly and vividly of mosques and Buddhist temples, and of being accompanied by spirit people into worlds beyond this one. Spectacular stuff, it used to be. What did I dream last night? 1) Two brown paper parcels thud through the letter box. They are the books from Amazon that I ordered on Monday. This dream may well come true today, if the post office is working on time. 2) I’m in the office of the course director. We move a table from one side to the other. That’s it. We are a far cry from the gorgeous mosaics, glowing tapestries, drifting incense smoke and sonorous chanting of sutras that I used to see and hear in dreams in the early nineties, for example, following the death of a friend in a car smash. Of course I don’t want someone to die simply to spice up my nocturnal personal entertainment system, but come on, does it have to be this mind-numbingly banal?
Right, I’m the absolute kiss of fucking death today, so you have permission to go and find something more cheerful to read. Cut along.