It’s stopped raining now which means I don’t have to swim to work, so I’m rather happy about that, I think.
I think because, despite the weather easing up (we’re getting a lot of rain once more), there’s still a good chance that it will start bucketing down again, meaning I may have to swim regardless.
It’s a cold day, which means that it’s a day to rug up a fair bit.
Perhaps it’s also a day where rugging up may not actually be beneficial in the long run, but really, there’s only one way to find out.
Perhaps if it turns out that rugging up is indeed the optimal way to go, then my ebullience will shine once more like the rising sun on a battlefield of clay and decrepitude.
Perhaps it may not and instead, like the heavy objects that are unable to escape the grasping, engulfing body of the deep heavy ocean, my mood will sink in a manner that would almost seem fatalistic.
Perhaps I’m just talking for the sake of talking because I need to keep on typing in order to keep my fingers warm due to them feeling quite cold.
Perhaps I want the sun to come out a bit more so that the amount of water that the plants I have are receiving is balanced out so that they don’t end up drowning due to the significant amount of rain that has fallen over the last few days.
I don’t know.
All I know is that my fingers are cold, it’s not raining right now and soon I will need to make my way to work in order to earn the money that allows me to buy the honey, or better yet a wide range of food that I can then use to cook with to make the meals of delicious temptation that my eyes cannot be averted from in their usually wandering gaze.
Sometimes I like looking at things because they look interesting to me. There was one time where I was looking at an object and thought to myself “that’s a rather interesting object”.
However, due to the unreliability of memory, that may not actually be what I thought. There’s a chance that I was not thinking at the time. If that is indeed the case, then my memory will need to shift to reflect the more accurate version of history, although history, whilst set in stone, is able to be shifted, for it is as mercurial as it is subjective, just like all the courses that I take in order to obtain the future that I want and cradle it within my hands like a precious item of desire that requires care and protection, I think.
Well, it’s time for me to grab the swan by the neck and mosey my way onto something else that lies on the path to the grand discovery of nominal importance when a grey-coated wombat haranguing a meringue lemon sauce unsurprisingly stands tall.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 08:38:60
So I’m going to run this through a translator a few times and see what the result is because I’ve wanted to do this for a few days.
I was hoping for more verbosity, but you can’t win them all.
Written at home.