rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

More of the Same

Here I am thinking it's about eight o'clock as I start this entry, and it's not even half past six yet. Here I am trying to figure out what to write about and it's going on seven o'clock. I'm guessing that if I write a full paragraph the last line will be here it is Friday and I'm wondering what happened to Thursday.

Maybe not. There's a full moon tonight, and I can always write a line or two about the moon. I've also been sneezing quite a bit, and I can always write about how annoying the mold spores growing from dead leaves become after the first few rains of the year. Plus I haven't had dinner yet, and it's never a problem to come up with a line or two about how I can't decide what to eat. And now my nose is being assailed, and I never tire of complaining about how Portia fails to completely bury her droppings after using the litter box.

Something new, though... let me think... no, nothing is new. So now I know what happened to Thursday. The same thing that happens to every day these days. It declines into darkness having brought nothing novel with it, and leaving only the faintest trace of itself on my memory.

Thursday: you have less than five hours to redeem yourself. I'm thinking maybe pie from the sky. A drone delivering pie! That would be memorable.

Or maybe I'll just go clean the poo out of the litter box.
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