The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

Between the end of that strange summer and the approach of winter, my life went on without change. Each day would dawn without incident and end as it had begun. It rained a lot in September. October had several warm, sweaty days. Aside from the weather, there was hardly anything to distinguish one day from the next. I worked at concentrating my attention on the real and useful. I would go to the pool almost every day for a long swim, take walks, make myself three meals.

But even so, every now and then, I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drank, the very air I breathed, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning.

Haruki Murakami

Suspended in Gaffa

I try to get nearer but as it gets clearer
There's something appear in the way
It's a plank in my eye with a camel
Who's trying to get through it
Am I doing it, can I have it all?

Suddenly my feet are feet of mud, it all goes slo-mo
I don't know why I'm crying, am I suspended in Gaffa?
Not till I'm ready for you, can I have it all?

Kate Bush