Summer standstill

Days are hot, nights are humid. Everything comes to a standstill. Trains are late, service is going down an ever slippery slope. And my own commitments are given way for excuses. They rarely hold up.

Last night…
I lay awake in bed, tossing and turning. I read a book about the fortunes of one Grace Hammer. It transports me to Victorian England….Whitechapel, East End, the Docks. When Bricks Lane is mentioned my mind makes a leap to one of London’s more infamous murder cases,  where one the victims if I’m not mistaken was discovered. Its claim to fame and notoriety, despite its sordid past, carried high as it was the imperial crown jewels.

I read more than usual, feeling anxious and agitated. There are reason. There always are. Life is in limbo, and old dreams are disbanded, forgotten in the darkness of night, evaporated in the mist of dawn.

I leave home in a state of defeat.