Absolute physical confinement, unless it’s absolutely necessary to go out. An irrational impulse to not see anyone, except on business (with one or two notable exceptions). Doing things out of sheer necessity — excretion, personal hygiene, sustenance. A sudden disposition to abate. Reduced attention span, ergo reduced comprehension abilities, ergo, eruption of learning handicaps. Abrupt change in whims. Recurring violent moodswings, against everyone and no one in particular. Extreme desperation for meaning of roughly everything in the moribund moments of solitude.
This is my life redux. Mid-life crisis? Probably. Too early? I guess. Everything organic, leveled to the mechanical. Sartre would have risen from his grave, grumbling See-I-told-you‘s. Not that bad though. It’s just the way it is. It’s a stalemate so far, but wait until I shed blood.