so little can satisfy me like unhurried time alone. memories like biking around the plaza finding grassy hide-aways to sit, read, spy, think are indelible and potent. when i am wistful, i think of such things.
instead i live the life of clockwork, no surprises, no reprieve. i am not sure how to (effectively, but not necessarily) break it.
on another note, few things enrage me like being told to do something one way, then being told that way was wrong. perhaps most sand-in-the-cunt if they teacher and corrector are the (ostensibly) the same person. bat-shit-insane.
i love watching bats flap around in their silence, graceless in contrast to the settling dusk.
another wistful moment--i must be getting old.