Back in the groove (or is it a rut?)

It's a tortourous blow that I have suffered. Imparted by life itself. A blow on life, by life. It was neither hideous nor ghastly. Not bloody nor excrutiating. It developed. Slowly. In the way that experts in torture will tell you that all the greatest tortures do. Now I have torture realisation. With the grey light of torture realisation I can detect the simple beginnings and the gentle cradling of self inflicted torture encouragement. Peaks of December 06 enjoyment that were then exquisite beams of sun, sound and happiness now cast long gloomy shadows upon my back as I toil once again in the groove of daily labour. Daily labour more despairingly tedious now because you enjoyed yourself. You sad torturous oaf, Graham.