April 17th, 2002. - 10:25 p.m.

This strange sense of delight.

I am a sybarite. Finally. No more of this congesting thought process.

I am immortal. And I have found someone older. But then, 118 years is not that long. I shall never grow old.

I could have spent the whole day laughing.

This heat is atrocious. Steals in uninvited. Absconds with any feeling of grace. Refuses the neurons their synapses.

The memory of smells. It wafts in unexpected, surprises the senses. Delights the mind.

Orion�s belt and the seven Pleiades. Plate of shrimp; theories and hypotheses.

Sigh.

Roof tops and cool breezes.

I wish I could think of something else. But it is evening; and there is no better time for such thoughts.

N.

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