Warming Up

Friday 13th June 2003

This time last week my mind was coiled like a cobra that has been wrapped extremely tightly around a pole by some errant cobra-stealing yobs, and I was working efficiently and productively.
Now my brain feels like a punctured tyre on a bicycle that has been left abandonned, chained to a fence in a train station and the bike has been kicked in quie severely by the yobs on their way home after getting bored of cobra twisting after the cobra's eyes popped out of its cobra head.
I have spent a lot of this week lying on the floor in my cellar looking at the ceiling, either after a night of heavy drinking, or more often during a hungover day.
This afternoon I spent two and a half hours in the bath reading (and for the first time in months I was reading a book that wasn't about penises. It felt good).
The water went from hot to luke warm to luke cold to freezing, but I didn't care. I stayed in til the book was finished and my toes were more wrinkled than a Chuckle Brother's face.
I somehow need to snap out of this Lotus eating and lager drinking, as I have a film to finish by the end of the month.
But for the moment it is truly glorious to not work, but rest and play, like a lazy, hedonistic Mars Bar fan (as if there are any other kind).