I don’t remember dreaming at all last night. Sometimes I remember dreaming, sometimes I wake up mid-dream and remember quite a bit, and then sometimes it seems that sleep was just a time of total darkness and unconsciousness. Last night was such a night.

This was surely a lost weekend. Not, like in the film, a weekend lost to alcoholism, but to acute pain and to some aches, the latter being a female thing. A life in disarray. Mine.

I did manage to get a little reading done in Middlemarch — not much, but more than usual. It’s not a competition; I’m just frustrated at how slowly I read and how little I retain. How different from when I was a child. Sometimes it feels as though someone flipped a switch in my head, and I lost the few intellectual abilities (and desires) I had. I think I can trace it to college; there was something about being on a schedule, being rushed, being made to perform that killed something in me that has never revived, even more than 20 years later.

Slowly, slowly, I am writing more. Not necessarily what I wish to be writing — I haven’t figured that out yet — but at least putting more words down. Words that signify nothing.