Yesterday was murderously humid so I sought shelter in the library, which turned out to be a good way of taking care of the interweb chores that I've been putting off. The weather didn't improve, in fact, it deteriorated (tornado warning anyone?) so I relocated to the rec and left feeling capable and invigorated, a happy contrast to the lethargy that I've been wrestling with these last few days.
At dinner our waitress was a sweetheart and we stuffed ourselves to the brim, signing the bill "Washington Irving" before laying out on the grass, talking and pondering and falling headfirst into space.
1 comment:
when did you become a fucking poet
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