I feel dragged out thin and like the inside of my brain got rubbed smeary with soft cloth. Tired, bored, confined, no adventure, no smoke on the horizon, no sails billowing in salt winds that clean your face and clean my mood and push us out to sea.
Taken to pieces, the engine runs fine. Fine apartment, fine job, fine friends, fine hobbies, there's fine beer in the fine fridge and I just can't bring myself to give a tinker's damn about any of it today.
The engine runs fine, but the wheels don't turn.