This morning and yesterday morning are similar.
The sun is not shining brightly, which creates an atmosphere of honesty. Especially in the house, which tends towards darkness on days like this.
I am reading A Good Day To Die, by Jim Harrison, as I was yesterday.
Sipping coffee.
Yesterday was Sunday. I did not have to work. Today is Monday. I have to work.
There is a suffocating aura of sadness and loss about today that was not evident yesterday.
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