getting over it

It's the morning in Charlton. The farmers have been up for hours, doing whatever a farmer needs to get done.

Everybody is now out of bed, but moving with the sluggish style of a sloth; myself included. My brain power and my enthusiasm seems to have seeped out of my ear as I slept last night on my side, shifting between too hot and too cold.

Where is my enthusiasm now?

I asked to be here.

I'm not unhappy to be here, it's just that I left my enthusiasm between my pillows, that smell slightly of mint.