The Malaise I Read About

I am ill.
Illness gets me down.
Two coffees in and I still don't know where to put myself.
Three hours since I got out of bed and I still haven't woken up.
I have things to do.
My 'To Do' list is longer than my arm.
My throat and my chest hurt.
Somewhere in the future there are deadlines.
Somewhere in the future there are bread lines.
Maybe I should go back to bed?
Maybe I should cook and eat an egg.
But by what method?
Fried probably.
I can't decide.
I need a holiday.
But I have to move house.
I hate estate agents.
I have a book to write.
I have many books to write.
'Rock 'n' Roll' by Led Zeppelin just came on my ipod.
I couldn't feel less 'rock 'n' roll'.
Now it's N.W.A.
I couldn't feel less gangsta.
I don't feel like fucking the po-lice today.
Now it's Hanoi Rocks.
This isn't helping.
Now it's Can.
A little better.
This isn't 'literature'.
This is whinging.
No-one likes a whinger.
The world doesn't need another blogger, does it?
Who cares about your half-baked thoughts?
Everyone thinks they're a writer these days.
If I was a Yummy Mummy I'd have a major book deal by now.
I'd write a book about carrot cake, impetigo and buggies.
I'd write a book about leg waxing facilities in South London.
But my tits don't leak milk.
Thank God, I hate milk.
I can't even have it in my tea.
Maybe I should do the washing up
(let's not get crazy here).
I'm interviewing Eugene from Gogol Bordello later on.
I haven't had a cigarette for nearly three months.
I haven't been properly drunk for a year.
I don't eat meat.
I bought a bike.
Yet still I feel ill.
Thinking about it, I suspect it is world politics that is making me ill.
World politics, MySpace and Facebook.
They're just no good for the soul.
If the 'soul' exists....
Personally I think it is one of those wishy-washy concepts.
But people don't like it when you say that.
They say "How can you say the soul doesn't exist?"
And I just shrug because I have no comeback.
Perhaps I am stricken by ennui.
Perhaps I am in a torpor.
Perhaps this is the malaise I read about.
Perhaps I just need to stop typing.
Perhaps I need to smell the roses.