Sounds just perfect for such an imposed inertia that knocked at the door on a sunny saturday afternoon. What a stoic state of apathy and fake calm.
You must breathe vernal thoughts I say. But there’s cold sun outside and warm rain inside my head. Repetition of the fake Antístenes cinism all over my mind.
I could, I should, I would draw what's in my mind, but I always go back to my primary way of artistic expression - write.