… this post by Sheffield-based artist and writer E.H.Cocker.

As the washing machine whizzes round for the final cycle my head crashes against the door and my foot gets wedged in my mouth.

At least that’s how I feel right now, as January spits me into February and leaves me wrung out to dry. There’s a cool frost on the ground and the trees are empty and still, but nothing so desolate or peaceful exists inside my mind, which is a blur with deadlines, work commitments and the annual winter wonderland of flu, cold and “my head might explode” syndrome.

Read the whole post here.