Write nothing for the rest of the year pour vous punir de rarement prendre l'effort de me donner du feedback.
One of my parental units would say: tu te tires dans le pied!
The other would likely say: non, non
My muse(s) would say: no; don't do this to meeee; stay hiiiiiigh
And I say, hey: here is the SotD, today (yes, Nightwish is still amazing)
Society is wack, man.
This is beyond the pandemic.
I'm on the verge of losing St. Clair West for good; I've already vowed not to return to Piccinnini, given the noise pollution that happens to me there, that's a good thing.
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I love my walkbike excursions. I pack my backpack (the agony that it takes to pack it is worth it), I search for a hidden copse, and I try and focus on breathing. It's hard. Breathing, yeah.
Still on my crusade against meditation. My cheat code is that I use the 4-7-8 breath method, twice a day, as my meditation and call it that and I guess it helps. It definitely does not hurt.
As I rode my bike home rather, I admit, offensively, I came to Atlas and Earlsdale and a construction worker with hearing protection on started blasting the concrete whilst smoking a cigarette and wearing shades. My poor ears are still hurting.
I grazed myself with a bike pedal because I was disoriented from the harsh noise the metal on concrete was making.
I resolved to hit up 311 and complain, but because the THC is starting to hit, I decided to come here instead and hit publish, of course.
