Shit son, my vocab is crap.

House of the Rising Sun - covered by a good friend of mine.

It really is.
What the hell is wrong with me?
My silver tongue has gone rusty and incapable.
I'm starting to speak and write like a choppy, slow, degenerate.

Clearly, I must start reading again. And by that I don`t mean the stuff about quantum mechanics, the holographic universe, and the illusion of time I've been frantically leafing through during my daily fear of reality episodes. I mean literature.

I need to finish a Tale of Two Cities.
I need to read even more Dickens.
And Jane Austen.
And Poe.
I need to read more french books. I sound like a french immersion kid.
I need to read less Koontz, because this utopian King is distorting my sense of how life really works out.
I need to read L'etranger d'Albert Camus a third time, with a more open mind than I did the summer after 12th grade, and with more strength than I did when I read it my first year of university.
I really, really need to take one of my six or seven unfinished novellas and pick up where I left off.
I need to stop saying I need to do things and actually do them.
I will read at least one book every week this summer.
I will.
I will.
I will.