

Morning began with fog clinging to the city like a shy loverš³
Lunch was bitter greens and a poached eggš³ (The universeās way of saying, āBalance, darling.ā) Later, I tried composing a melody - something minor, restless. It dissolved into a loop of three chords. I let it repeat anyway. Sometimes imperfection is its own rhythm.
Spent the evening rereading a chapter from 12 Rules for Life. Petersonās lobster hierarchy bit still makes me laugh. Who knew crustaceans could explain human chaos?š¤