I have a mother of all headaches, like a sledgehammer pounding away at my right temple. But it's not as bad as it could be because I ate some chocolate today. What has that got to do with it, Everything, I say, and now I also have a tummy ache that could be due to gastric or too much milk, I can't really tell, and I don't even know where I came up with the idea that milk gives one tummyaches. I mean, I also ate bread today. Plain white bread. Deliciously bland until you dip it in milk. And last I checked, I'm not lactose intolerant, but I suppose I can always start deciding these kinda things today. Like how I can decide my birth date is on the 29th, my imaginary friend's name is no longer Belfiore but Peter, and the number of purple kitkats and rainbow-striped clouds I will have in my hands on the morrow shall be 0.197. Write the right, Right the write.
I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.