So Tired

Even as the hot weather eases and a cool moist breeze begins to blow i can't shake off the narcoleptic state i've fallen into. I stagger through each day just barely awake maintaining consciousness only by a titanic effort of will.

Every day going back home on the interminably delayed piccadilly line from earls court to finsbury park (my nearest station arsenal is closed for engineering works till august the 7th) i've slept - or more accurately - passed out.

Whether through breathing the depleted viscous atmosphere ( to call it air would be an offence under the trades descriptions act) already filtered through the lungs of thousands of fellow travellers - or whether through the exhaustion of work, the psychic aftermath of working all day with addicts in a variety of therapeutic (for them) group settings (and other counsellors with their unending 'issues' and deluded notions of 'care') - or whether, more likely, any of the above combined with temperatures in excess of 40 degrees (more below ground)i don't know.

But i do know that i've spent most of this saturday nodding out on the couch. With the exception of a soporific browse through the books in the charity shop and a couple of hours at an NA meeting i've done nothing. Hence this - so at least i can fall into bed with the satisfaction of having noted my condition. I'm optimistically clutching The Three Theban plays by Sophocles though i suspect i'll read a paragraph and it'll be sunday. Still, 3 meetings in last 3 days and no time spent lost in the bewildering and ultimately dissatisfying labyrinth of pornography that is the internet means i'm doing alright. Maybe i'm withdrawing - or waking up once more.