rejectomorph | Bother

My time management skills, never the best, are getting worse. Not only did I get nothing done this evening, I didn't even go see the waxing crescent moon before it departed. My thoughts scatter like the dry leaves the sultry night breezes snatch from the trees.

Also, I now hate the number 9, and even more when it is followed by another digit. Five more 90+ degree days ahead! Enough, September!