It is too hot to go outside.  From what I can tell, it is partly sunny and 90 degrees, yet I think this is a mistake of the weather channel because I swear it is 286 degrees.  Humidity makes me cranky.  And restless.  I pick up my book to read (right now I am reading The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand) and then put it down after realizing I have turned three pages and haven't registered a single word.  I have turned on my television and find myself flipping through the channels not because there is nothing I would enjoy but simply because I am fidgety.  I am sitting here wondering how many people in this world are doing the same thing at this very moment.  Having too much time to think of the "what ifs" that nastily make their way into our minds when we least want them to. 

Everyday I wish for someone I don't know to talk to me.  No one in particular, just someone new.  When people smile at me walking down the street or go out of their way to ask me how my day is, genuinely awaiting an answer and not just asking it as a passing by statement, they have no idea how good that makes me feel.  I am shy outside of work but am dying to get to know people and to have them get to know me. 

I strive for routine but don't like the one I am in right now. 

Perhaps since I am in a melancholy mood, I will follow in the footsteps of Keats and write an ode. I will call it  Ode to Humidity.  Some people write about important things.  I must accept that I am not one of them...at least not today