Fennel Won't Do

Sudden and inexplicable craving for licorice.

The clouds decided to remain all night, and the rain decided not to fall. Nothing happened, except for the crazy bird who has taken to bashing against my window before first light. Maybe it isn't a bird, though. It sounds the size of a bird, but maybe it's a giant flying insect. Whatever it is, it smacks into the window with remarkable force, repeatedly. I hope it doesn't drink blood.

I really must do something about the escape of the hours. I don't know where they go, but they must be hiding somewhere. I can't seem to keep track of them anymore. Their refusal to stay put is beginning to irritate me. My inability to make them serve any useful purpose is beginning to irritate me. I have the urge to hit myself on the head with a clock. Given a choice, though, I'd rather have the licorice.

I hope it rains more today.

Harried

We're getting a good soaking. The leaves won't want to be raked following this. They will cling to one another and to the wet grass. Some few will cling to the rake itself, clogging it, attempting to slow the inevitable process by which the others of their kind will be gathered. In the end, I will get them all. They will be mulch! Even through the barely-open window I can smell them. Already they rot.

Gray sky prevented the sun from waking me on time. I've lost more than the hour I regained by the time change a few days ago. I could use an automatic timer to turn on my room lights. I'm sure it would be more effective than any alarm clock.