I've a weary kind of feeling

[pjthompson]

My skin isn't sitting right on my bones today. I want to write, but can't; I want to read, but can't; I want to get out and go somewhere, but I don't. The roommate is definitely bugging me. The sun is shining and we've got temps in the low seventies, but the santanas are blowing, mummifying everything. Which brings me back to my skin not sitting right on my bones—it's mummifying, too.

Usually sitar music calms me, puts me in a different place, but even that's not working. I've got an ancient Donovan song, "Josie," moving through my head as a counterpoint:

  I've a weary kind of feeling
  like my time has come and gone to waste

Which he wrote when he was all of eighteen. Bless you, baby.

But, you know, the poetry ahead of those two lines was quite beautiful:

  The meadows they are bursting,
  the yellow corn lies in your hand,
  and with the night comes sorrow
  as the tide of dawn slips on the land.
  The long breezes are blowing
  all down the sky into my face,
  I've a weary kind of feeling
  like my time has come and gone to waste.


'Tis the season, perhaps. This time of year always makes me itch. My friends and family and I have agreed not to exchange presents, so that's not a worry. It's just the season itself that gets to me.

Then again, I suppose it could just be this:

PMS Survival Guide
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=deW2c0anmTc

It occurs to me that if I was a guy and posted that somebody would be sure to call me a sexist. As it is, I find it funny as all hell. And oh so accurate.