Nine hours spent in front of a screen, lines and blips, blots and spots, all a scrambled mess before my eyes. Spectacles, which should have been firmly planted on my nose, were left sitting upon our dresser, eyes tired incapable of focusing more. The page before me is but a blur, lines strewn across the page higgidly piggily, eyes squinting seek rest.
Posted by munin at Diciembre 10, 2002 08:52 PM