how peculiar is that? routine has been so out of sync lately that even predictable things like mondays seem somewhat novel.
our wisteria tied itself in a knot. that’s also peculiar.
i promise i’m alive and thinking thoughts — it’s just that by the point in the evening when i have time to write them, i no longer have the ability to write them coherently. and writing is the time when i’m supposed to be coherent, even if i sometimes insist on being incomprehensible.
so. there’s a picture for you, and here’s a poem from a long time ago. (okay, i guess three years is not that long ago.) it kind of fits parts of today, though.
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