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rejectomorph

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Nothing [Nov. 1st, 2018|11:06 pm]
rejectomorph
Today was the peak of the current warm spell, which might be ending finally sometime late next week. This Saturday it's supposed to get up to 78 degrees, but a week from Saturday is supposed to be only 63. Actual autumn! Next week! Even better, there's a hint of rain expected the next day (although maybe not so good, since that will be a shopping day.) That will be November 11, Armistice Day, the 100th anniversary of the end of World War Part I. A soggy day would be appropriate.

Several years ago I began writing a memory piece that involved some of my reflections on Armistice Day, but it kept growing and growing, and then stalling and stalling, getting bogged down in the trenches as it were, and I've never finished it. I stuck what I had of it in a private entry (actually two entires, I think, as it was too long for LJ to accept as one) on another journal, the password of which I have since forgotten. I remember it every year about this time. It would be nice to publish it on the eleventh, but I doubt that will happen. I should probably just write it off as another, however belated, casualty of the war.

Today was another one of those muddled days. I got up too early. Dead leaves were cleaned from part of the roof and some of the gutters. I squandered time on the Internets. I watched some television. I had a late lunch. I almost had a nap but caught myself in time, but not napping hasn't made the day any more productive. My head still feels like it is stuffed with something. Or nothing. More likely nothing.
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