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My thoughts are tranquil and so I write very little.

 

Even now when I attempt to conjure up an ounce of inspiration I feel dry and lifeless.  I normally suffer from an overabundance of brain activity, thoughts whirring about faster than light, ideas and questions plaguing me and following me no matter what making sleep difficult and tranquility impossible.  Now I am too tired to think.  This is a combination of being sick and being worn out from work.  The irony is that my body chose to get a cold on the hottest week of the year thus far, humorous?  Only sort of.  

 

Last summer when I was volunteering at a summer camp I was worked to exhaustion, so badly in fact that I became quite sick and even suffered from mild bronchitis.  My lungs and health have not been the same since, every six weeks or so I get a mild cold.  The sickness is not that bad it is it’s regularity and far down it drags me, my normally colourful thoughts are bland and my optimism takes a hard blow.

 

But enough of wallowing, I must be to work early and so I shall say fare well for now.

 

The Mythwright

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