July 27, 2013
So many thoughts, so many ideas, and itchy finger with his bandolier of prepared pencils, the Archivist's mind is veiled by a unknown fog. He sees bits and pieces but he can't formulate a proper writing or response. Comrades ask of his dally but he can't think of a proper explanation. It was alien and uncomforting.
In the heart and body, he wish to perform his duties and desires but can't. Feels like a anchor is pinning him but nothing is there. It is odd and frustrating. Procrastination and leonine laziness feels like the answer but isn't. He wish to speaker with the Weaver of that seemingly eternal tapestry and ask her the r