Post seasonal adjustment disorder? The belief that one has never 'achieved anything of worth, anything that rhymed with my conceptions, my dreams (for those were fine; of that, I certain)?' [Lypiatt in Antic Hay] Or just feeling a bit of a mardy bum? I suspect (c).
Still, it's hard to maintain an expression of pained sensitivity/wallow in your own chemical imbalances like some ghastly French poet from the 19th Centuree when you log in [at the silicon face] and get emails with subject lines like this:
'Your orgasms will be enhanced to the point of ecstasy, and your stamina and overall sexual health will be greatly increased.'
This from Pierre Dominguez. What a benediction. Then, in a comically vulgar counterpoint, the fat and beery companion of the sensitive Pierre pipes up. It's Virgil Trotter:
' fuck them as much as they can handle', he slurs, then in the same breath, 'do it all night don't be silly', urgently, not even pausing for punctuation or capital letters.
Splendid, splendid.
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