It's hot outside. My brain isn't working so good. Bunch of boring, depressing stuff to do. Test on Thursday to study for. Unfinished script lurking in the corner of my harddrive, mocking me. Life, she is grayed out like a photograph left in the sun for too long.
Anyhow, spoke with my mother she informs of two things. First, she has seen repeated violations of the sacred pact of the Michigan Left while trying to cross the street to her home. Despite the repositioning of construction barrels, sandbags, and – her words not mine – a “giant, honking DO NOT ENTER sign”.
Second, it is now fishfly season. Every year, during the summer, the fishflies emerge from their larva stage in the nearby river and descend on the Pointes like a biblical plague. If, of course, that plague was about being really annoying instead of lifethreatening. They coat every available surface, especially the closer you get to the water. Things still creep me the fuck out.
Fun fact: In literature, mayflies – which are known as fishflies in the 313 because of the rank, fetid odor of dead fish they leave behind – stand for things that are hard to find or obtain. Perfect symbol for today.
Perfect symbol for my script, too. As the thing hard to find right now is the time to write it. Ah well, always tomorrow.
Update: You know, it might be a good idea to actually put up the posts I'm trying to reference link to. Anyhow, here's the one about Michigan lefts I was trying to link to above.