I am bewildered, almost constantly. I stare at the computer screen, conscious that I have about a million tasks backed up, but still unable to take one solitary action. Events are as the sea, relentlessly rolling in and engulfing me while I pretend everything's OK. Money - and (oddly) there seems to be plenty of it - is not sufficient to prevent the meltdown, and my stern jeremiads, or pleas for help, go unheeded. There are insufficient hours in the day, and those which exist are hijacked by Machiavellian mountebanks and frivolous frippery.
I struggle to find joy in those things which used to buoy me, and the pelting of the pitiless storms about our sceptr'd isle gives no respite to its pitiful citizenry. All in all, a fairly grim prognosis, but at least I'm still standing.
Oh, to die. And be resurrected. Lucky bastard, that Jesus.