Perhaps the clouds sympathetically induce this fog in my head. If so, I'm not offended, as long as my state stops short of ennui. Feeling as though I'd like to drape myself over a couch and stay there for hours just watching the sky isn't so bad. Now that night has closed the clefts of brightness that decorated the clouds, there's little to watch, but that doesn't bother me either. The blankness is equally appealing. Lassitude is sweet.
The guy next door tried to start his motorcycle for about half an hour this evening. He failed. Bonus! The sound of the starter is not that much different from a cricket's chirps or a frog's croaks. The sound (and smell) of the engine would have been more like what I imagine a Troll's farts to be.
And on that lovely image, I retire to a night of doing as little as possible.