I bask myself in eternal tragedy and lament; forfeiting the pleasures of book dust would be unnecessary masochism.
Writing seems to come easier; perhaps due to motivation. It is not every day that someone rises from the dead, so to speak. The memoirs will, undoubtedly, be called “Resurrection.”
Today is remarkably warm though the clouds forlorn rain; I’ll extend my daily walk, perhaps bring the notebook with me. If I’m in that good a mood, I might bring my camera though I’m unsure if I want to risk water damage should the heavens break loose.
Perhaps I'll visit an old friend.
