rejectomorph | This Again

The thing about nearly perfect weather is that it makes me nearly perfectly dull. How many ways are there to say that I could spend all afternoon doing nothing but watching the white clouds pile against the mountains? I didn't do that, of course, since I didn't have all afternoon to spend, but I spent so much of it that way that there's little time left for Internets. But then since all I have to say is how I could spend the rest of the night watching the waning moon ride among the pale stars and scattered clouds, I guess the lack of time doesn't matter all that much. It's just the same old never old to me.