You could say:
These days, life just seems to slip past in a blur of non-events, non-days, non-weeks where nothing happens to no one and everything stays the same while imperceptibly fading in colour, imagination and joy.
Or if that's too dark:
As the days blend into one, a calm sense of normality wraps itself around, a warm blanket against the chills of the world; the firm belief that nothing changes without reason.
Less abstract:
It's bloody hot outside, and the stifling heat frankly kills any desire in me to go and "do stuff". I'd rather just sit inside and hide my skin from the burning sun, tearing through a DVD collection and chuckling at daytime repeats of ancient sitcoms.
Existential pessimism:
Life is like sliding down a muddy slope into a hole. We cling on to any sodden clay that our fingers can grasp, but ultimately it is all a futile resistance of the inevitability of slipping deeper and further, down into the dark, away from the light, until eventually we hit the bottom and are trapped forever.
Grounded practicality:
Why is it that the one repeating coincidence in my life is that between my sudden desire to write on my blog and my desperate need to get a haircut. Does my power come from my hair?
These days, life just seems to slip past in a blur of non-events, non-days, non-weeks where nothing happens to no one and everything stays the same while imperceptibly fading in colour, imagination and joy.
Or if that's too dark:
As the days blend into one, a calm sense of normality wraps itself around, a warm blanket against the chills of the world; the firm belief that nothing changes without reason.
Less abstract:
It's bloody hot outside, and the stifling heat frankly kills any desire in me to go and "do stuff". I'd rather just sit inside and hide my skin from the burning sun, tearing through a DVD collection and chuckling at daytime repeats of ancient sitcoms.
Existential pessimism:
Life is like sliding down a muddy slope into a hole. We cling on to any sodden clay that our fingers can grasp, but ultimately it is all a futile resistance of the inevitability of slipping deeper and further, down into the dark, away from the light, until eventually we hit the bottom and are trapped forever.
Grounded practicality:
Why is it that the one repeating coincidence in my life is that between my sudden desire to write on my blog and my desperate need to get a haircut. Does my power come from my hair?
