Tonight I'm having trouble writing.
The entirety of the day is so full that it bursts at the seams, and maybe this is why the idea of writing everything down is so very daunting to me at the moment. I think that I want to talk about the play. It was entitled "The Merchant of Venice," written by one of my favourite Williams.
At any rate, Shakespeare would have been proud of the way his piece was carried out, in my humble opinion. I particularly favoured the Prince of Arragon and his minstrel. They were very pompous, and it was most amusing. This play confirmed my already immense awe towards Shakespeare, and it's rendered me somewhat speechless. Honestly I'd rather be reading one of his sonnets right now than posting to my blog.
Have a scenic photo!
My mind is full of fluff. Look at the time!
I'm going to become a bum tomorrow, and I shall remain as such until the following day rolls around. We will venture out into the cold, forested world, and huddle together to keep warm over the small stoves we fashioned ourselves out of two cat food cans, over which a pot of beans or soup will simmer.
My apologies for the short post! My thoughts are not in such forms as can be simply translated into language.