I decided I'd compose a wonderful poem about autumn.
But I have a hard time with poetry, unless it makes fun of other poetry. And I don't want to make fun of things right now.
Plus, autumn is cold. As I type this, I'm shivering on my bed in my sweater under my blanket. My nose is cold and running (not because I have a cold, but because I AM cold!). Supposedly, the naked trees are supposed to let the sun shine through, but every building casts a shadow on its every side, no matter what time of day it is! So I think, "Oh, I'll ride my bike and warm up from moving around!" No, moving around just puts you in contact with MORE COLD AIR.
I wonder if they make heaters for bikes. That's just silly, but it would be awesome.
So, sorry about my deep and meaningful poem. I just don't have it in me to be a poet right now. My nose is too sniffly, and I have to make, like, a THOUSAND pies today at the restaurant. I've been dreading this day. Last night we made 14 pies. I think that after this week, I'm due for a three-week vacation. I might just take it during the end of December.
