Drove through a flat and grey Sweden today, in a rental courtesy of Drunk Carl. Wovenhand on the stereo. Thy will be done, here on this highway.
Rainwash against the windows. Not a single snowflake, as far as the beard could see. When did it all change? White blooms to white and freezes white again.
Now cocooned in the comforts of home. Old home. Eyelids heavy. Right eye bloodshot. The headache is acting up. Sleep sounds like a good idea, but won't happen for a while. Jeff Dunham is on TV.
That state of mind where you realize that you're actually on vacation, that the office actually won't fall apart without you, is right around the corner, held off by the excellent combination of exhaustion and a major sugar rush. Hopefully it really hits me tomorrow.
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3 comments:
"White blooms to white and freezes white again."
Stunning.
Yeah...too bad I stole it from Faith No More...
(Watel. A South African bird that's stupid enough to go north to Sweden every winter, and hence is almost extinct. Watel)
Oops. Der.
(Lonkch. Someone who claims to know music then publicly humiliates herself by not recognizing a stolen lyric when she sees one. Lonkch.)
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