Lunchtime Undertow

Maybe it's the air conditioning at work, or the heavy, stuffy weather, but whatever it is, I am exhausted. My limbs feel like they're made of concrete, and there seems to be an unstoppable attraction between my eyelids and the notion of closing. My level of concentration slips away, and I start to think of headache-y days when I was a kid, staring out of the window at the rain during sickly maths lessons.

After my alarm went off this morning at 7:00am, it took quarter of an hour to drag myself out of bed. Industrial-air, thick as treacle, and the imagined atmospheres of desert factories. Sat on the sofa in the living room, half closed curtains, watched by the half closed eyes of a grey day. Men down in the Mews, opening up their workshops. I suppose once there may have been blacksmiths down there, horse-shoe makers; iron, fire, metal. It's all joiners now. Bespoke furniture, wood and the sound of drills and saws. The more things change, the more they stay the same, except there are no horses now.

Lunchtime passes and the sky has gloomed over. It felt like summer walking in this morning and now it feels like weather in Limbo