I feel like I know it's going to hurt, like all I can do now is try and break my fall. The disconcerting feeling that I'm missing something is mostly what keeps me from feeling proud all the time, so I guess I should be thankful for it.
The competition is fierce as far as connectivity is concerned, both from within and from without.
Sweaty summer is right around the corner, and going to the movies has never sounded so foolish.
I'm so impatient, I want to keep everyone in suspense until that last possible moment. When they'll either hate me for making them wait so long or love every single moment.
Besides, delaying gratification is healthy, so they can thank me later.

The next morning, the sun was shining brightly through the morning mist. The large blossom cradled the small pond near where I had camped for the night. I wandered over to the beach, still enjoying the swaying cushioning of the massive branches beneath me. The water was crystal clear, and I looked at my reflection briefly before breaking the stillness to splash water on my face.

Dear so-and-so,

The last time I didn't write, snow still covered the trees. Now it's a capricious spring, and I still haven't pinpointed how I'm going to make you notice it.

I can hardly contain myself anymore! The mathematic renegades, with their long gray hair and black bandanas seem to give me the evil eye more than usual too, it makes me cringe.

So it seems like a game of golf could sweep my boredom under the rug, to think the town was once abandoned! I could always call old married Prof, for a game where we'd all end up using wedges after putting away all they wood. Tough nine, that back one.

Finally, I decided they were displeased about the one that approached us, and it made me feel a little more important to be possibly approved.

After I'd hit a nice curve through the wind (which ended up being a slice and hitting an overhanging tree) I noticed them using putters for driving. I asked them why they weren't using woods or such, and she replied it was because they'd just used them. I asked them why they weren't re-using them, that I thought you _could_ re-use them, but she replied very gently (albeit condascendingly) that, no, you could never re-use them. She pointed to everywhere we'd been, and sure enough, there were all the other (good clubs) standing straight up on the grass. I noticed a cluster of regular drivers, etc. and asked what they were, and she said that it had been a hard putt.

But she was angry, wasn't she? Tossing things on the bed, pointing out that I had overstayed my welcome.. I knew it was time we both disappear for while around then..