why does my brain only work on the bus. just kicked in how shit i've been lately, minor panic attack and no knitting therapy. it's fixable, but it can only start tomorrow.

still unsure why people in my workplace want me to do their thinking for them and solve thier problems. should distribute cv of fuckups to ensure this does not continue. am sure that at least one of my main visitors doesn't actually listen to anything i say so at least i don't have to worry about giving outrageously bad advice.

i don't know what i've done with my sense of wonder. i keep finding bits of paper that i wrote little thoughts on years ago (mostly as impromptu bookmarks in books i never got round to finishing...) and i have little childish mourning that those little oddities never occur to me anymore. wherever they've gone, i hope they're having a good time.