Just returning from a walk, in need for a hot bathtub. It’s cold in Franconia.
I feel bad. Like after a week long pub crawl, with a bubbly thing instead of a head and shaking hands. This morning I could have sworn to have the taste of cigarettes in my throat and mouth. Unnecessary to tell that I do not smoke anymore since January first this year and that I had some wine sometimes in the last week. I am tired and have difficulties to concentrate, what is a real drag because I need to work. Yesterday went well, I was the whole afternoon in the library and sifted through literature for my monastery-sheep, it’s really interesting what people wrote.
Is this an early case of the dreaded Frühjahrsmüdigkeit? The flat cake in the mirror bears a distant resemblance with the delicateliy chiselled features of my divine face, but these dark tear sacs, the matt lustreless glance, the hair, the crinkles … I did not have my Trill Jod-S 11 Körnchen, or better a handfull of Merz Special? In the old days a bottle of Rotbäckchen would have done, or the Melissengeist grandma liked so much, 79% would help me too with a more relaxed understanding of life, world and everything.
Maybe I simply go for a walk.