“…it’s hard to die when all the birds are singing in the sky…”

(“Seasons in the Sun” – Terry Jacks)

mountains and valleys and piles of books lay on my carpet like a swamp, all just to keep up in school and learn things about the economy i never wished to learn and it gets boring taking a class when you already can excel at the discussions related to it but it’s been a lovely day; the sun was bright and the weather was perfect and i drove with my windows down and smoked my pipe like a wise old sage, and i came home to my mountain of books and i ignored them so i can read my treasure chest. sleep is a habit inescapable and it’s supposed to rain today but i’ll still keep my windows open. and N, she still gets sick in the mornings with sadness, i bet, and takes medication which is comparable to taking cyanide for a rough cough cough, it’s so dry in here N, why is it dry, are you okay? no, not really, but neither are you. no, i am, promise, it’s a nice day out and i’m feeling swell. it’s not fair, then- black and white are more perfect than shades of grey you may think that N but you’re wrong. you look a little pale N are you okay no she says i’m not and proceeds to pull swords from her tongue as if a sword-swallower in reverse stop-motion, it’s all jerky and it hurts my heart to watch and it’s a little creepy but what can you do, it’s one of your favourite clips. please get better N i’ll say when i leave and she says that she won’t, but i’m no better either but i’m out the door before i hear her.