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Traffic, brain traffic, thought traffic, emotion traffic. Everything is bundled up in my "storage" room, so it is a pity that I don't really try to think about things. Except the fact that I'm thinking about this blog. I'm contemplative, about tons. Why is it that it is hard to write at my house yet, but I write like a maniac in my apartment? Maybe the atmosphere, instead of air, there are clouds. Everything here is fuzzy, not physically, mentally. What will I write next? That was the question I asked myself before I wrote that question, so I answered myself with a question, two more "question" or "questions" until I question the meaning of the word... What does it mean again? How did we think of that word? If you say "guacamole" five times, you will most likely question the origin, or the meaning, or the pronounciation, or anything else you make up... Guacamole, guacamole, guacamole, guacamole, guacamole. Now read that. Again. You think, what the hell were we thinking? Then you think; gua-ca-molly... Wait, what? What does that mean? It's all Greek too me. What about you?

I think it is fun to just use non-big words in my house. In my apartment? Well, completely different novel. Speaking of which, I am intrigued by The Time Travelers, a book by Linda Buckley-Archer. It is actually a kids book, but interesting no matter what. I'm tired, but have a greed to just jot down my thoughts real quick, but this very post has taken about ten minutes, not very quick... I'm watching hockey, more intrigued in that than this at the moment.