I think I’m beginning to overcome a real funk and funky ennui that has made it very difficult indeed to work this past week. It may have been the sunshine – unseasonably hot, and in Glasgow of all places, especially in our little south-facing suntrap – which slowed everything way down, but it was also a shiftlessness. Kafka, 28th July 1914 : “I am more and more unable to think, to observe, to determine the truth of things, to remember, to speak, to share an experience; I am turning to stone, this is the truth”. Although not nearly as bad as Kafka’s “Despairing first impression of the barrenness, the miserable house, the bad food with neither fruit nor vegetables” – we’ve got fresh veg delivered from the local grocer – 45 days in the same limited square footage has certainly turned me towards the stonelike. I’ve tried reflecting on my teaching practice and taken heart in returning to marking essays in order to reinvigorate through dialogue with students about texts I love and care about. I seem to be able to read fiction, albeit in very short bursts, but there has been a block in reading criticism. However, easy does it, that can be my small goal to achieve by the week’s end.