The depressions are blocking out any prospect of joy at the thought of the years end. This is both bad and sad, things will have to be changed. But there is no power and no ability to change things constructively. Just running will do no good.
The day started with strange noises emanating from the basement, Go to the bathroom, and a greeting comes from the bottom of the stairs. It is the son, and he announces that he will now be takeing the train to Bayreuth to collect some things that he had forgotten. It is six in the morning and pitch black night outside. The son does not like the lights being on so leave them off. What that particular madness is good for is unknown.
The son vanishes into the dark, and make some breakfast as the day progresses. It is not light yet, but there is no harm in having an early breakfast. The last batch of unripe avocado pears from the supermarket has ripened meanwhile, so breakfast is three eggs, two slices of toast and and an avocado. Of course, also with a cup of coffee.
The day threatened to be mercilessly awful this morning, and now it has turned out that way. It is not because anything particularly nasty happened, it is just the some of all the small unpleasant things and the woeful depressions.
It is evening, and perhaps a visit to the pub would be in order.
It is now eight minutes to eleven at night, and two half litres of beer have been consumed, one regular and one free of charge. And a small order for ten prints of a show covered some weeks ago. Return home happier after a cheap night out.
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