Funny Feeling

The strangest sensation has settled in me (temporary, I hope); I'm feeling a bit indifferent. I know what I need to do now, and that is writing, but I keep putting it off. "Tomorrow, I'll start tomorrow", I say to myself everyday, even though I should have started yesterday. Can't explain it, but it's as if I don't care?

Of course I care. But it's like I'm a little beside myself, watching someone else doing the things I do. Or don't do. Today though, I've been really busy, washing and cleaning. Somehow I think this was good for my thinking and writing anyway. Nothing like working physically for a change, and it certainly feels good walking around barefoot on steam cleaned floors inhaling the scent of fresh laundry.

Maybe this "numb" feeling just is some kind of protection? 'Cause I can absolutely not allow myself to be sad or miserable at this moment, then I'll get nothing done whatsoever. A few more weeks now, and then I'm done. Well done. Much like a BBQed piece of rump steak from a tough old cow - "gray-brown throughout and slightly charred".