Ten.Six Hundred & Nine
It’s time for me to wake up.
I do have whole wheat flour but I don’t feel like baking today. Donuts it is.
Hot coffee and an old-fashioned. Gray skies.
My arms are tired from reaching up over my head. Hair days.
Only 1/3 of the book left. I should be finished by Wednesday. Then it’s flash cards for the the next 18 days after that. I can do this.
I block out the times of day that I know I’m busy doing other things. The sound of the pencil gliding back and forth across the paper as I shade in the rectangles. The way the pencil moves across the paper makes me nostalgic.
Murder on the Orient Express. He says Poirot’s peculiarities are too similar to mine. Poirot says something about how his ability to see the flaws in things makes his life miserable. I guess we are indeed similar.
Pretzel salt in my sheets. We ought to find a better solution for movie night.
The hill in the background look familiar. Even though it’s in black and white, I can tell it must have been filmed in late spring or summer.