Shades of mood
Awoke to one of those brilliantly cloudless winter days, where the very air seems to be made of brittle glass, and the sky is a sweeping azure dome so clear that you can almost see into infinity. Gentle breezes verge deceptively on glacial, and recklessly on uncomfortably piercing. And most novel of all, to a girl who has spent 17 years living three degrees above the equator, the lawn in the violet shade of my building is drenched in crisp, crackly icing sugar.
White, grey, violet, azure. I demand new colours; yes, new ones that do not even exist.
I am currently undergoing that insensible gradation of mood change, in which I am presently tenebrously happy, but will probably trickle imperceptibly into "irritable" and "moody" in a moderately short period of time; to be precise, three hours. Yes, I am setting myself three hours to write an essay, an activity which is synonymous to "scheduled procrastination", mildly comparable to "wasting lots of time doing nothing online", and in no way constitutes "work", or any derivative thereof. As a result, I will be irritable and moody by about 9.30pm tonight, if not earlier. Come online and talk to me! I promise to snap at you for distracting me from my work essay-writing.