As I stepped off the bus I noticed something was off; in fact, there was. The brick of Red Square was impossibly dry. My barber had noted that the worst of the winter seemed to have lifted. I hope he's right. The sun is out for the first time in weeks.

Every time I get a haircut I feel like my body's grown. My head is suddenly small. My ears get cold too. I'm no longer dated "1969": I'm your modern man. It's weird.

To The Lighthouse is wonderful. I'm glad I started it early, so I can fully savor it, rather than going through the typical regiment of gulping gallons at a time.

I should've slept in. I woke early with the intention of meeting a friend up for a day out, but that didn't work. She didn't reply to my email. Town was nice nonetheless. I hadn't visited it since before I left for home. The bridge is open but still unfinished, just functional enough to meet the bridge's opening date. I bet the commencement was limp and uninspired -- how can you declare an incomplete bridge?

It's only 3:30 what to do!

Oh yeah I want to be a writer. The normal unemployed sort.