I woke at 4 am, sleepless.

The red light of the ansaphone flashes in the dark. One of those messages is from George asking, in so many words, my opinion of the Thai. Another is an invite to a talk on Ego and Art, and yet another from Karen, passing on the make and model of the phone she wants for Thom. I am not reluctant to deal with these messages or my rising tide of paperwork, yet I've neglected it all. It seems I require some purchase on these tasks, the underlying thread that links them to me. It's as if I expect the next task to be the one that joins the others together. Is this how it begins, is it? The long road of my dying. I forget, it's so long since I've been depressed.