At twilight, the clouds look like bloated corpses.
There's too much work. I'm either going to start screaming and running for the hills or I'm just going to crumble like weak sandstone under the force of a hammer. On my way home, I saw a small yellow bud peek out from a lot of dirt and weeds. I see it as hope. There's still about fifteen weeks until liberation yet it looks a long way off.
