When it rains it pours, but when the sun is shining it shines so brightly I can't see a thing. All I know is it feels good, the sun's warmth on the back of my neck as I sit and sip my whiskey tea.
It's five forty-five post meridiem on the fifth of February, two-thousand and seven. This is my eight-thousand and thirty-sixth day in this place.
There's a part of the right way that's just a perspective; there's something in the kindness of someone who loves you, a hand to hold or a smile that's well understood, the right word that stumbles out of a whispered mouth and into your ear as you're almost asleep so that their words become a part of your dreams.
That was poetic.
"Today's my birthday, and I'm getting drunker."
I have a list, a "wishlist" if you will, of books I wish to possess. If anyone has any suggestions of titles that should be added, let me know, but they better be good. I'm sick of wasting time on mediocre books.lkfsdklsadnm,nnzxvcc;klsdnmnwe;oihhsnm,zxcv.nmnnas;dlkhaoiws;
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*cough* sorry, I was overtaken by the holy spirits, I started writing in tongues.
K, bye.
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