It smells like this time last year

I never notice when it happens exactly--usually because it happens overnight--but I know it's a yearly inevitability when the summer heat shuts off and causes the trees to burst into something like flames and ash on the ground.

I'm excited for cider and flower picking, pumpkin patches and corn mazes. But I hate winter and I know of course that has to follow. There's really no choice but to take the good with the bad, I suppose.

I rode my bike to the library to study. It was well packed with old men and women with small children. I watched a little boy jump around and shake while (perhaps) compulsively lifting his t-shirt to expose his tiny chest. His sister, just a few feet away, pressed her body against a brick column as if trying to hug it; she stared toward the ceiling while sliding around, embracing it. Another little girl talked to what I assumed was her imaginary friend before handing her bear to her mom and shouting, "feel hims nose!" And I realized that children act like adults on brain altering drugs.

My dad said it's because the innocence of childhood hasn't been beaten out of them yet. Later in life, when you try to recapture this innocence--say, with multiple hits of acid--it will again be beaten out of you as innocence is largely frowned upon. I suppose acid is frowned upon, too, but I haven't yet substantiated this claim.

I left because it looked like rain and I had roughly 2 miles to bike home. I told myself I'd continue studying at home, but instead fell fast asleep and dreamt that I had tried to sneak back into work.

I tried to work on one of my stories, but felt I was hitting another wall, so I moved on to a different story that I had previously put on hold. Subsequently hit another wall. I'm starting to put so much pressure on myself now that I quit my job. I don't have any more excuses now; it's just me. There's so much riding on this portfolio, and I'm finding myself putting so much thought into each word I write that I'm becoming almost paralyzed. Not exactly putting the horse before the cart.

I really need to find some people to read my shit.

In other news, my brother has announced that he's moving out in a month. That means things will stop smelling weird.

Note to self: when was the last time I talked to mom?