Ill, weary, blue
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If you have a weblog you are supposed to update it aren't you? Looking at this thing I see that I have though I can't even remember writing the last two entries.
I've been sick for much of the last week or two weeks. Memory is so blurred that I can hardly confirm that I've continued to exist and haven't passed on to the afterlife or been cast into the Purple Dimension.
Dimly I recall that I've made some not very useful appearances at work. I've been watching and old BBC political sitcom Yes, Minister and am getting ready to re-watch Jet Li in the Once Upon a Time in China series.
The Boyfriend remains in exile. He seems content enough with that status for now. My feelings are mixed. I want an absence of drama. I've been sleeping a dozen or hours a day. One of the rewards of illness if, like myself, you are cursed with insomnia.
But I do need for The Boyfriend to return. The clock must start again and we need to discover if we can live continue to live together.
The pathetic truth is that I don't know that I want to. On and off I've been corresponding with a few virtual acquaintances. Their various natures leave me wondering why have I settled for so little when there are such wonderful people living elsewhere.
Not that I'm dreaming of establishing a liaison with one of my distant and unmet friends. There are 8,643 reasons that won't happen. Oceans intervene, realities obstruct. It is just that I feel I cheated myself. Details are best deferred to another entry or buried in silence.
Note to Tim: these things just happen. Some of you are luckier.
Note to Mr. X: I wish someone had responded to your essay about the youth on the train. Speaking for myself the vast bulk of the words I've committed to blogspace have passed without comment. You have to be a celebrity or "A List" weblogger or at least visibly young and attractive if you want to see your words always responded to. Or pose as a political pundit. I guess pose isn't fair. Pundithood is little more than a habit of yammering in public.
You there in NJ: you are often in my thoughts. And I hope you haven't forgotten our friend in the UK who feels a bit forgotten.
I shall now go and reacquaint myself with some of Tsui Hark's wire work and the legend of Huang Fei-hong.