I’m never going to write anything

I don’t know whether it is depression or a sinus infection. I don’t know if it is both. but for the last fortnight I have been almost incredibly stupid, as if I were thinking through treacle, and looking at the world through a veil of snot. Every sentence has to be written three times and then spell checked. Nothing works. Nothing seems worthwhile. The world, of course, continues at its accustomed speed, jerking me along like a loosely coupled train, so after a fortnight feeling I have nothing to do, I now have a radio programme to make, a profile to write, and another book outline to do as well as the stories I knew I was working on. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I have to write down the simplest things to do before I forget them. Now I will go and look at my phone list, if I remember.

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