So autumnal. Really. This whole day. Moody and hopeful and feisty and tired all at once, million miles a minute and then molasses. The grocery store was playing terrible contemporary rock about angst and hope and wanting to go home. Terrible.
The children finagled a walk to the park. A good idea. The sky was low and lumpy grey and the sidewalk was speckled in red orange and brown. We walked past the middle school just as the swifts began to flit around in loops, circling their chimney home in quick, black silhouette.
Drawing is good, writing is better. If all else fails there are always leaves. My cell phone ran out of juice and so my emailing capacity was disabled. Probably a good thing – heed to every thought that bumbles into my head is not necessarily a good idea. Though I’m sure it seemed brilliant at the time.
Speaking of – I am growing almost unbearably conceited lately. I really do think I’m brilliant, and I have a feeling that my certainty somehow dampens my brilliance. Gosh, that was brilliant.

See, I go around in circles.
Note to Self: Do not talk so much about your supposed brilliance.
What a Psychiatrist Would Say About This Post: Three Words: Delusions Of Grandeur

What I say: Rich Internal Dialogue With Tendency to Self-Congratulate

Why is self-flagellation condoned in this culture, this self-deprecating illusion of humility that we conjure? Why are people who actually like themselves seen as so obnoxious? Maybe we just aren’t supposed to talk about how much we like ourselves.

Weather is dreary; football is played. Days get shorter and sleep is a dream.

Is there really anything to say?

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