He came back from a walk after dinner and gulped down half a bottle of water in the searing summer heat. He hadn’t felt good in quite some time recently. A rather long time, in fact. Nothing seemed to be able to enliven his rusting mind. A usually refreshing glass of iced tea didn't make a difference either.
He thought about what had gone wrong and when. Nothing particularly outstanding struck him. It seemed that over the past few months, he had become sort of detached from everyone. Involved, being together with them, staying in touch, but still somehow detached. As if some invisible wall had crept up between him and everything else. After some events in the previous few days, he was thinking about the futility and utility of it all. All of it was supposed to mould him, shape him. But into what?
He could be described as an impervious façade masking an undertone of gloom and helplessness and an explosive presence of anger, standing under a cloud of uncertainty. He knew that he was about to be ravaged in less than two weeks’ time, and was almost confident that what lay ahead was beyond his ken. These thoughts stirred around for a while, and as it always seemed to happen in recent times, they vanished. They seemed to have no effect on him. As if they never existed to begin with.
His apparently isolated, stagnant, doubt-filled self then resumed the mundane activities of daily life.
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