I’ve just pulled an all-nighter for the first time in … well, a while. Work required it, and my name was on the dotted line, so I buckled in and haven’t slept yet.

Aside from the physical symptoms (which are pretty non-remarkable, other than a mild case of OMGWTF from my stomach), I’m finding myself oddly immune to song lyrics and poetic imagery, here in the grey sunshine. Listening to Peter Mulvey , who normally speaks very clearly to me, I find his images … pretty, but somehow distant. Not relevant to the hard physical facts in front of me – shadows and light, typing and sporadically getting up to pee.