THE WINTER OF MY DISCONTENT
Is there something to write about that doesn’t sound trite? I feel banal, boring, uninspired. My mind skids in dizzy circles, enumerating the things that need to be done, the things I can’t get out of doing, the things I have to put off doing, the number of hours in a day which don’t add up to enough. 24 would seem an overabundance, but 9 8 7 6 are eaten up by sleeping and 8 are eaten up by working and suddenly it seems I only have half an hour left each day to do all the things that are...