And I am sick.
I can’t tell whether I’m too hot or too cold. I don’t know if I’m full or hungry. I want to have a nice good long sleep but my hyper-active mind can’t rid itself of all the million thoughts a minute wandering.
I did manage to re-read a book by Agatha Cristie, “With the pricking of my thumb”. I wonder if her writing can be called literature or is it just purely genre stuff. Nonetheless I enjoy reading her books though I’m forever getting the sense that I have read every single book that she ever wrote but I can’t remember any one’s plot.
