This probably comes from not having had caffine today. I suspect that this is in fact the culprit.
Change. It drips from the walls around here. I live terrified of stagnation, of going back to before. But to accept the passing of the good things as the nature of change is to enforce a detachment that I fear as much as I do the stagnation. I read that sentence again, and I realize that there's a misassumption in there somewhere. I'd dig it out, but that would require an intellectual investment that I'm not up to making.
Okay, enought public whining.