Le novembre de mon rêve

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New lamp. Autumnal leaves, cyclonic.

It will be a year. It will have been a year. I remember how I had been slightly under the weather. I had biked to Shopper’s to buy Ricolas. I played it cool. The clouds played it cool. Coffee, tea, soup.

I took down half of my desk and turned it into a shelf for my plants. My plants aren’t doing so well. My asparagus fern has crisped and yellowed. The others look a bit sadder than September. Hopefully, the committee (judges?) will not ask about “indoor gardening.”

The 345 tapestry seems to want to rest on the door, and I cannot will it otherwise. It is a piece full of surprises, of bright moments, lacking dullness. I have not found anything akin to it online. I told my parents a price lower than what I actually bought it for. Ha. In general, however, my deceptions do not run very deep.

The season has turned. The red patch between my collarbones has returned, and I must be gentle to it. Many revelations will be coming soon. I must have a plan.

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