Yesterday, a friend labeled his email to me “ennui” and I realized that may be the exact word for what's wrong with me this week.
Not that I am without physical symptoms of the bodily disturbance sort best left unmentioned but also not so sick that I shouldn't be able to write a blog post – particularly one for which I have put actual thought and made notes.
Except. Except that my mind is fuzzy, distracted, slow and I don't seem to be capable of the sustained concentration needed to get words onto paper in a coherent order.
So it is the age-old question of which came first – the ennui or physical symptoms. Of course, it doesn't matter and is hardly worthy of sustained inquiry.
No musical filler today. Instead, an occurrence that undoubtedly is most appreciated by people old enough to have experience with senior moments:
This morning, as usual, I set the stove timer to remind me when my oatmeal would be finished cooking and then continued working through the email that had accumulated overnight. I have lots of practice with this maneuver; I've been doing it for many years.
At what turned out to be three minutes shy of when the timer would ding, I went to the kitchen to check on it because I sensed the timer might have gone off and I had ignored it.
Now isn't that special.
At The Elder Storytelling Place today, Henry Lowenstern: Birthday Wish