Eighteen ounces divided two ways. Creamy and white.
This is how I start my day.
Last night, I just couldn't sleep in the absence of cold.
Today, I promised me not to fake smiles, but to be content in my fatigue and the daily tasks set out before me.
Everyone has their off days.
Today I feel spirited, but all weak and bony. So I made me self eat a hearty fisherman's breakfast. I ate it tough and drank it black. I didn't even bother to wipe my mouf, but alas I am no fisherman. A fisherlady at best. I stopped halfway through and yawned it all up.
No, I don't mean maybe.
My land legs are tired. But when I sail by the man on the stoop everynight at half past whatever ungodly commuter hour he reassures my purpose with a hello, how are ya', and a tip of an imaginary red fedora. That's enough for now, but this year I missed the excitement of meeting new people. Seafaring creatures. I guess I'm not missing much. Because what I really want is to meet magical undersea adventurers that only exist in leather bound books and pirate's imaginations.
Yes, no, of course! What I mean is, I thought you'd never ask. Otherwise I would have gone alone.