Edges feel a little dull. "Everyone is the wrong shape," as the ghost character from Shadowstone Park might say. The ghost does not elaborate on what is the right shape.

Perhaps I need to stretch. Or maybe I'm emotionally drained from dreaming about yelling at my mom. In my dream I got so mad I refused to come over for breakfast anymore. I spent a few groggy moments in the morning trying to figure out if it was real. I felt bad about it.

Sleep-Anger Issues.

Foreshadowing the coming time when I won't be coming over for breakfast every day. It's soon. I'm considering moving earlier, since I have my monitor stands to move. That will be obnoxious.

I used to have a schedule. What was it? No real breakfast, but some watered-down coffee and an apple at break time. Then some kind of food bar for lunch.

I'm sure it will come to me. I used to do it all the time. And I'll have more time in the afternoon again. Some things will be easier to accomplish. And to be awake earlier than the dang dogs. Blasted hounds start creeping around at 6 am hoping I'll get up and feed them.