Mid'o'the night; can't sleep. Writing the story about a lady who deals in hearts and who looks at Morphei's mess, saying: Pathetic. It's not even beating..

     She's not as bitchy as she sounds. I'll find a way to reason with her.  

    Some extremely confused and out-of-tune nightingale continues to try to chirp just outside the window. It's dramatically foggy and just chilly enough to feel it, bare-footed and in a tanktop. No other sounds, no other lights. Reading, writing, waiting for the world to wake up... Contemplating taking the bike to the lakes, take some misty photos before dawn. I'm thirsty, but cannot decide what would satiate me. A mate tea maybe, if I was into that shit. Maybe because I had an elderflower Radler yesterday. I don't like tea, but I do yearn something warm, kicking and embracing... A caramel latte will have to do until G comes back from work.