I'm frustrated. The last few days I've suffered an ill-defined malady of just sufficient consequence to cancel appointments. I've missed my psychologist appointment and rather wanted to talk to him this week. I missed seeing my psychiatrist, but will see him Friday instead. The weather may be the source of my malaise, but I am not certain.
I've written no fiction nor any poetry since last week. I had a couple of good ideas, but failure to get them into some more durable form has caused them to be lost. My inability to get things done has been less pronounced of late, but I find it hasn't applied to things that matter to me. Am I getting better superficially? What is it covering up?