I'm on the fourth floor of one of the libraries at a desk next to the window. A couple yards away is a glass door leading out to a narrow brick balcony which rims the top of the building. Unfortunately, that wall obscures half of the view so only the tops of a few trees and the sky are visible.
It is the sky, however, that is slowly (and insidiously) driving me nuts. Right now, it's a uniform gray, but even just an hour before, it was white. Only white. I'd rather have those obnoxiously sunny days or when it's dark and raining, because even then the atmosphere isn't completely homogeneous.
A white sky is like living in television static: all sensory deprivation and mindlessness. It's one of those things that can make one into a gibbering and drooling fool. I want something to smell, touch, taste, hear, see. Sensing nothing goes against everything.
