Sweethearts, please do save me from myself. Like a Victorian times damsel in distress I am in need of loosening my corset lest I faint, recline on a sofa, reaching for my smelling salts. Yes, a certain fatigue has come over me: I have lost the will to comment. How tragic is that? And, no, it is no reflection on anyone other than my faculties telling me to consider how best to employ the last remnants of my diminishing returns. GG used to called it ‘ennui’. An infliction most becoming if you are French and male. I myself, of uncertain origin and female, call it boredom.
Don’t dismiss this tragic state of affairs. I don’t do boredom. Just as I never ever have headaches I am never ever bored. At least not with myself. And – worse – being human I need social discourse if not disagreement. LSF (longest standing friend) and I have just established that we aren’t any longer what we once were. And that was before we managed to calculate how much skin we have shed over our combined life time. However, what I was able to impart – and it is very difficult to impart anything new to him – and I myself only learnt this a few days ago, bit late in the day if you ask me, that our brains partly shrink because all other organs take any water FIRST before passing the left overs to the place which is, essentially, the coordinator. Selfish, I know. There you are, or I am, drinking cold water whilst not trying to deplete my sodium levels (I am only obsessing about this since my mother was hospitalized on account of them – never had given it a thought before) and what do you know: Your poor poor poor brain rolling around your skull like a shrunken walnut kernel just because your kidneys, liver and heart get there first. It’s awful. No wonder I sometimes stare a hole into air trying to remember what brilliant thought I had a minute ago.