it is rare

that I take a morning for myself, to think and contemplate all inside my head, to compose some poetry or prose or some superfluously necessary thing. It is rare that I allow myself a few moments away, these days, to catch my breath.







I don't always know what day it is, so when I don't I make a guess. I was off by 4 days. I know some people that would really get upset by being this wrong. But it's just a number, a label, a day. Who really knows what day it actually is, and does it really matter at all? Sometimes it's nice to be so concretely wrong.



I slave another day on my research. I hope, dearly, that this won't all be in vain.