A Word for this I Can't Rememver

White skies. No perspective, no colour, no movement, no sound. In a cathedral of silence - this is an anti-whispering gallery - and I imagine the streets there twined with altars, the seafront laying with pews, and prayers resting in the Churchill Square shopping centre, the cafe on the seafront, the newsagent across the road. Is it cold or warm? I can't tell. There is something unsettled out there - something mixed from a pensiveness and a sleepiness, an anachronistic disorder, a juxtaposition of typhoid and the best day ever. Maybe. Time for me to go out there. My limbs are filled with a sluggishness, a lethargy that make me think of bed, but my mind is full of all of yesterday (most of yesterday) spent indoors. I am neither one or the other. There is word for this that I can't remember.