So poorly. And I don’t think I can go home like this. Half an hour of conversation feels like a gigantic effort. I am patiently waiting for the storm to pass.

Looking back makes me realise just how sparkly life felt, even a few years ago. And how beautiful it was six or so years before that. Take me back. I want the magic. Can I find it again?

I am hoping my spark will be waiting for me when I get through this viscous, dreary, trying phase.

I can almost feel the magic of the coast. If only I wasn’t buried under this mountain of mental inertia.