All too poetical.

Listening to french pop, Coeur de pirate, well it's all been a little too poetical around here.

Feeling like, risk and reward are missing.
There is a disconnect in for me, and no sources of authority are telling me what I am doing wrong. Was there not a time when just having the want was enough to secure a place doing, thinking, being. No more it seems.

Tres despondent. Plus grotetique.

Rice balls, hot tea for dinner; A single beer while reading at a cafe alone in the afternoon. These are not solutions, but they are solicitous. Feeling bohemian, a mooche. These are the truer reasons for losing sideburns, must be earned.

Treading water. Solitaire.

I hate the smell of Selsun Blue. Sticks with me all day and mediates the dandruff, a production pubescent.