Winter is coming. These long dark evenings would be perfect to go for a walk smelling the autumn. And after a long walk it would be lovely to come back home, make some tea and read a very good book. And then another book and another. But instead I'm just so incredible tired and unable to finish any of the books I have started. I have been reading books that I like and while reading them I have realised how good they are and how much I would enjoy them some other time. But not now. Nothing inspires me right now. Later. When the Noverber is over. If it doesn't eat me alive this year...
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