Still here.

It's sunny out and I think I'm going to climb out onto the roof to read and write and think. I always say that but very little writing ever actually gets done. Reading, yes, thinking, most definitely, but generally I have too many thoughts and I don't end up putting them down on paper like I planned. Oh well.

Earlier I was thinking that it's a shame I don't smoke, because there's something really maudlin about sitting on a rooftop, smoking. But an increased risk of lung cancer, the idea of paranoia setting in while 30 feet above ground, coughing, and the fact that I really don't like it are all excellent reasons not to start. Aesthetics can be romantic, reality less so. I'll still with not-writing.

I'll try to actually do a real post soon.