My quotient is missing some major factors. I've been having dreams about all the what-ifs I'd chosen not to explore. I've had time to mull over it, in between sleep, underwear style codes, wake, and to Neil Halstead. It feels like winter already.
I walked around the house quietly relishing the lethargy. I smoked, cursed at the rain, sniggered at the dog, ate lunch over the sink, and roasted a chicken. The melancholia has arrived prematurely. I tried to remedy it by making bruchetta. I think tomatoes are happy fruits. Almost too explicitly loud for my mood. I don't like them very much. I had Hope Sandoval echoing through the glass doors while I sat on the rain-stained benches outside.