it’s early afternoon on a late autumn weekday. i am surrounded by my thoughts, a couple of books, and an empty mug where there was some mix of chai and coffee until some minutes ago. i look at the white ceiling, contemplating what to do next. i don’t have much to do. it’s a weekday but i was not called to work. i do have projects to tackle, but they can be dealt with at night. i am hungry, but not to the point when i get out of the sofa to fix some food. my legs are up and it’s too much trouble to move out of this inertial state. i feel good. better than most days, i gotta say. yesterday i took a full-day break, suggested by a friend. it is incredible how i was more productive while on a so-called break than when i am actually supposed to do stuff and make things. at this point, the words just come, as if i was being dictated by the other whatever was next to me. an imaginary friend. i’d like to imagine that an imaginary friend – like the cookie monster from sesame street was dictating me stuff to write. all of it would be related to cookies, but that’s the price you’d have to pay to have a cookie monster as an imaginary friend. speaking of cookies, i do feel like eating something sweet later today. should i get a strawberry shortcake at a bakery nearby? questions like this one help move the engines of our world. strawberries to the people. pause for our commercials. and now, thinking of a manifesto on “strawberries to the people,” i start laughing in pauses, while still looking at the white ceiling. how ridiculous is that? that is definitely the kind of thing i would do as a joke just to see how traction it gets. god, i missed writing. more than that, god, i missed reading.