Not that my sleeping habits have changed a great deal, truth be told: I still wake up in the dead of night too often –my rest being undermined by opening mental threads or –worse still– by those I failed to put and end to. At 6.30h a war-like horn blows. I grab a chance to write and read: it is never late to review short stories and make plans for more ambitious literature projects; then I turn to editing and –last but not least– catching up with the news.
Aside of living a dystopian reality, paradigm changes and countless nominal syntagma drawn from the New Manual of Politics, COVID-19 is only yielding me some late-winter melancholy and feeble headaches –the latter being an old friend of mine, though–. And I should be thankful, for this is nothing to do with those that struggle against the bug…
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