My sad little plaything sits, cold and dusty. I feel a little twinge of guilt each morning I glance over as I plop down in the thoroughly modern yet completely boring Asian daily workhorse. But her rear-end is up in the air and her engine sits, looking like an exploded parts diagram, closer to the wrong end than the right.
I have succumbed much too often to the cold, gray gloom which produces no motivation for even the things I want to do. I received a shot in the arm yesterday in the form of fully rehabilitated three-liter combustion apparatus from the metal magician. I shall strive to finish what I started [much] sooner than later and rediscover my Cheshire (or perhaps defecate consuming?) grin which makes my commute oh so much more enjoyable.
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