Cottonwood Tufts From Morning On

All. Day.

Small pieces. Pieces I’m breathing in. On top of intestinal dismay.

Just not my day. Didn’t get to the projects I’d wanted to at work; could barely function as was without total discomfort.

But I managed to pull through.

Tomorrow we’re getting paid. Tomorrow I can crash hard after.

I have so much still to do, and my summer’s predominantly gone.

Where has time escaped me?

I wonder it all the time.

For now, though, I’ll lightly mull it over good classical music and a little bit of rest following soon after.

Life’s funny in all retrospects, really.


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