Recurring, recurring post.

About this time last year I wrote this:
(perhaps I should amend the dates, perhaps I should plan a trip away this time next year, to prevent this appalling regurgitation?)

This time last year I wrote this: I am in that place
between years… I used to work and I will work again… I used to
go to bed and sleep, for now, I watch films too late and lie-in
till I hear the bin men in the street, then rush to catch them
before they leave. I shop, with a thousand million shopping drones
and feel like I do in church, waiting for it to make some sense,
while those around me seem to get it, I do not. I am going through
the motions. I am waiting for my PUK code, my MAC code to release
me from the contract with this year, so I can move on to the next.
I am sorry 2011, it isn’t you, it’s me… 2012 looks so appealing,
I know it’s just flirtation, that once I’m in it the old routines
will seem the same, but I have to try, or I will never know.
There’s a few slugs in the old carton, but I want to open a new
one, fresh and cold. I am in this zone, this place, a matter of
days before I can move on. So here I am… 2012. I’ll just copy and


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