your service has been interrupted

I go back to work: it's like all the creative thoughts drain out my ears. Maybe if I was lucky they would stick on the pillow overnight and I could scrape them back up again. Problem is every time another one of those bells go off and I jump up to my feet watching the ticking clock another one gets zapped and then there's nothing, no residue available for a good going over later. It's the treadmill what does it, I realise now. No time for the wistful gaze out of the window, no mindless trips on the bus not needing to get anywhere any time, and certainly no laying on the bed looking at the ceiling until I forgot what I was thinking and start thinking more.