A stubborn head-cold has been dissipating the energy out of me. In the throes of the resultant exhaustion, I find it difficult to concentrate on any one activity, be it sleep which I sorely require or reading, which I can only accomplish in fits and bursts. Even writing a post feels laboured, much like my breathing. Ideas appear in fits and starts. Just when I think I can put together a decent piece, the words stop flowing and I am left to consider the usefulness of ellipses.
This peculiar half-alert, half-drowsy state is accentuated by the weather, which is moodily grey. I wish it would make up its mind and either rain or allow for sunshine, but nature's vagaries are her own. After many years, I am re-reading what I think is the best travel book ever written - 'From Heaven Lake' by Vikram Seth. He commands English so expertly, it feels more like a series of vivid photographs rather than mere alphabets linked together. A book that requires complete immersion for absolute appreciation, a sense of deja vu confirms my feelings many years ago; the book is essentially brilliant poetry in prose form.
Reading this book, or for that matter, any book on travel, is a double-edged experience for me. I get to make voyages vicariously, all the while resenting the fact that this is the only way I seem to be making journeys. Because I don't like to travel alone, I find it quite incredible that the authors can and do, often it seems, effortlessly. I could cite numerous other hackneyed obstacles in my way, but something he once told me always quietens the excuses. The jist of it was that opportunities abound; it is up to us to take them. Seeing the truth in that message is tinged with panic because time is flying by and I feel oddly stilted. About everything.
I want to say it is the weather. I want to say it is the head-cold. Believing any of it is another matter.
Song for the moment: I want to go back - Eddie Money