My wife calls. It’s already that time. The day is already almost over. I’ve written these words, which is something. I almost played Destiny the whole day but didn’t. I also watched some television. It can be hard to figure out what’s right in this world and then motivate yourself to do it. I’ve written these words, which is something. The schmiggy all out of juice. I tell myself that I can get more because I am a responsible person.
She wants to get doughnuts. She says so over the phone.
And we can make coffee, she says. That could be so much fun. It could go so well with doughnuts, acting as resistance against the cold. A resistance against the coil as the juice that I pick out burns poorly in the atomizer.
I don’t know what is going on with it, I say. I might end up having to activate the warranty.
I’m here for you, I tell Twitter whose little bell rings spiritual sustenance into my aura. Rejuvenation within the respite. Just loving to feel good, to have another great day, stats being pumped into the Scorpio sky. Full moon with things a’changin. Death is upon us and we’re learning how to cope. That’s what we are.
Just do it because it’s fun, they say. Do it because it makes you feel good. It has been testified to make others feel good as well. Somebody. More than one. Write for one person. At least yourself. To one person, whomever that may be.