A bit cloudy. Might rain.
Milk delivery late. Mom phoned. Might go for walk later.
Milk late again. I'm going to complain. Not a lot worth writing about.
Got a creative writing course tonight. Hope it's okay.
With little prompting the bedroom curtains glided apart. Squinting into the bright morning light I was struck by the marked absence of an inter-galactic invading force. The sky, a pristine blue, was significantly uncluttered by a hovering menace. Closer inspection of the horizon revealed a lack of tell-tale dark and eerily-lit smudges heralding the approach of a twisting ferment of dark tumbling clouds. There was to be no near-apocalyptic storm this morning.
Sitting quietly on the telephone line, a lone sparrow twitched and flapped its wings, as if shaking-free the accumulations of yesterday's dust and grit. Its smallness and insignificance emphasised its non-display of cold menace. No Hitchcockian show of feathered malevolence today.
And along the tranquil street, each entry, alleyway and parked car, devoid of life, shouted loudly the non-presence of a crazed stalker, obsessed and devoted to the documenting of my life, manifest in a shrine of pictures and words.
Then, in my peripheral vision, I caught a movement. Striding purposefully up the street, a lady. Encased in a full-length, shapeless, gabardine coat, and sombre, ex-GI combat boots, she strode impassively, looking neither left nor right. Her isolation and aloofness spoke meaningfully of its antithesis: a pouting, full-breasted siren beckoning me; provocative, with hips thrusting outwards to give emphasis to the idea of her soft-haired mound...
Ah well, not much doing again today.