Icy cold morning - the first so far. Longing to recline in a soft sweatshirt and eat chocolate and read a good book. But I can't find a good book. Alas, why could I not be as shallow or pleaseable as every other person out there. Why must I be a thinker, a dreamer. Why must I always require deep thought, inspiration and original works. Even more, why must I always have a warm dish of something delicious to accompany it?
The quiet is an amazing, soothing, medicine.
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