the Reoccurring Kind
I wish we were there, now.
Last night was beautiful. I was outside, reading when the breeze turned into a wind. It was a very strange night. The clouds were interestingly shaped. I could see no stars, but there seemed to be patches in the clouds -- they probably just revealed other clouds instead of the sky.
Strange days, don't you think?
Breakfast is to be at Le Buzz this morning. Quiche and salad. Perhaps some bread. After this breakfast, I think a new fast is in order -- until the next breakfast -- whenever that shall be. I'm thinking at least three days from now. It's time to exhibit some self-control.
Strange days, don't you think?
I yearn so badly to wake up in the morning, take a step outside, and smell the ocean. To do as I had done countless days before, to take a deep breath and go to the road to begin my day. I've read a good deal of the Merchant of Venice, and I'm finding it hard to just not gallavant into my bedroom and retire to my armchair.
Strange days, don't you think?
Some days, the pull of the sea is strong, and toward the east. The only ocean I know is the Atlantic, and it's the only one I need to know. Living less than five miles from the beach at all times for 16 years really has an impact on you subconciously. It never leaves you -- it's always there like something stuck just outside your peripheral vision. Always swelling and ebbing back again. Strange days, these days.
Last night was beautiful. I was outside, reading when the breeze turned into a wind. It was a very strange night. The clouds were interestingly shaped. I could see no stars, but there seemed to be patches in the clouds -- they probably just revealed other clouds instead of the sky.
Strange days, don't you think?
Breakfast is to be at Le Buzz this morning. Quiche and salad. Perhaps some bread. After this breakfast, I think a new fast is in order -- until the next breakfast -- whenever that shall be. I'm thinking at least three days from now. It's time to exhibit some self-control.
Strange days, don't you think?
I yearn so badly to wake up in the morning, take a step outside, and smell the ocean. To do as I had done countless days before, to take a deep breath and go to the road to begin my day. I've read a good deal of the Merchant of Venice, and I'm finding it hard to just not gallavant into my bedroom and retire to my armchair.
Strange days, don't you think?
Some days, the pull of the sea is strong, and toward the east. The only ocean I know is the Atlantic, and it's the only one I need to know. Living less than five miles from the beach at all times for 16 years really has an impact on you subconciously. It never leaves you -- it's always there like something stuck just outside your peripheral vision. Always swelling and ebbing back again. Strange days, these days.