I could simply update with my daily happenings such as that as of the past week, I have had a good bowl of ramen that I'd consider remarkable enough to mention if I was some sort of real internet blogger. Or that I attended at one of the only fireworks festivals held in the colder seasons, but I never know really how to drag out events such as that into a whole story. On the other hand, I could write perhaps a whole epic on my misgivings regarding the swelling in my neck; it's barely noticeable. I draw attention to it by rubbing at it until my mom gets cross with me. In fact, with one hand I am rubbing at my neck now. It's not something cancerous, I'm neurotic enough that of course when I felt it two mornings ago I had shot to my device considering that possibility as clearly the most realistic and plausible.
It's exhausting to be on my computer or phone. Not due to that I'm a luddite or that I'm socially exhausted, I don't speak much anyhow. Just that I am prone to headaches, yet here I am. Midnight. Well, at the time of my writing, there are eight minutes to go until the new day.
It's chestnut season, I believe, and I've been thinking back and forth on purchasing overly expensive chestnut cake to pair with my overly expensive yuzu green tea. I wondered if the cyclical nature of seasons would be disregarded this year, the summer seemed to fade into winter one September morning, and I thought of their graceless transition, "Well, it seems to be that." The leaves are reddening or yellowing or dying now and it's so funny that of all things, it's this annual shift of temperature that triggers my melancholy. Then again, shifts in temperature trigger many such things. At the very least melancholy can be poetic when done my an author rather than a fourteen year old on a Thursday's schoolnight, contemplating deeply now if he should grab a cake from the fridge or not. I'm mostly speaking to myself now though. Goodnight then.