Back When I could....

I am sad, I am frustrated because as much as I like to joke about menopausal women, I don't like the fact that I retain water more than I can with information. And because of that, I am on the verge of giving up the only pleasure I have in life, which is reading and writing. To some people, writing is an art, to me it's a craft, meaning I have to work hard at stringing words together. If stringing the words is hard work, imagine me having to find the words to string.
I used to sit on this chair until my legs get numb from not moving because of a riveting story I am reading. Now, I sit here and lay like brocolli just staring out to my patio bemoaning the demise of a relationship; that of a book and it's reader. (By the way, I don't care for stuffed whatever, but I use this animals to put on top of my stomach to help prop up a book)

At work the other day, Chelsea, my co-worker stopped me from my hypnotized state-"Ritchie, look here," she said I'm staring out the window too long and too much and snapped this on her phone camera. (Yeah, I know, even though I am paid like I'm 12, I still have obligations to fulfill.) I don't really know, what I'm thinking all the time, because I hardly have no memories anymore beyond 3 minutes.