Not actual, physical paralysis, but the inability to move, to choose, to act. What should I do today? Should I do it alone or with someone? Should I write, should I make art? Should I clean? What is the best use of my time? What is the worst?
Oh, there’s a quote from, not the Wasteland, but that other long poem by Eliot—not really a lovesong.
I grow…
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