streaming meanderings

They say to take time, to stop and smell the roses. In this office there are plenty of roses. Beautiful and hothouse grown, they smell only of slightly sweet, dry office air. Dry and almost state...

Stale. I have grown stale. My outlook has grown stale. I am tired of stale... The loss of life... My life is stale... The sympathies once offered me have grown stale. The constant anger leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It is in the air and makes everything taste stale. Even this persistent mummer of discontent I feel is stale. And by now this complaint is certainly...