Batholith

Awaking to half clogged sinuses and that familiar feeling in my guts; Variations on a recurrent theme. Could exhaustion be the cause of my gastro-intestinal predicament or do I simply loathe my daily cell that much? I choke down finely prepared sustenance, in the hopes that if I prepare it with care, the gurgles in my belly will finally cease. Too tired for the old routine; Too tired. A firm belief is placed in the fact that coffee is all that's gets me through this morning; And every morning, towels to bruised shins and a crisp shirt later, the road is taken to a numbing punch-line: spinning my wheels until the week draws to a close. Rinse, repeat; Waiting for the snow to fall.