Somehow i pulled myself out of bed and went in to work the next day, in spite of the gnawing sense of dull despair that bloomed in me like a brittle garden of thorns. I felt wrapped in a fog of dull pain that hurt only enough to remind me that it, too, was without purpose, and there seemed no point to going throught the empty motions of breakfast, the long slow drive to lowing muscle memory to push me all the way into the chair at my desk, where i sat, turned on the computer, and let the day drag me of into gray drudgery.
Dexter in the Dark(2007) by Jeff Lindsay.
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