Even the morn­ing weath­er is get­ting warm and unbear­able. For the last month I’ve been men­tal­ly prepar­ing myself for the mug­gy sum­mer days, when every sec­ond out­side is tor­ture and I feel like show­er­ing every oth­er hour. I hate this fuck­ing weath­er. Why can’t it be fall again?

It’s so sub­tly beau­ti­ful out­side this morn­ing. It’s been a string of sun­ny, clear morn­ings in a row, but today, at 6:30 ante merid­i­an, the sky was dark and grey.

There’s still a mist through the air, and it feels like a damp fall evening, one best spent in front of a fire with a book in hand and the smell of wood in the air. If it weren’t for the fact that this is well into spring, this day would­n’t feel so out of place. But alas, all the street lamps cast their yel­low­ish light onto the streets, and all I want to do is lie in bed and lis­ten to the wet tires of cars dri­ving by.