The sky was beautiful when I stepped out of the house this morning. It was a lovely shade of gray so uniform in its grayness that it was hard to tell where one cloud ended and another began. It was as if the world was under a translucent bowl of gray porcelain, as if an endless cloud that stretched from horizon to horizon blanketed the earth. It made me happy. 
  
It should be like this everyday: sunless and gray, languid and dreamy.  I belong to the gray sky you know. 

Last night I was watching La Jetee, a hypnotic film (or photo novel? slide show?) about time and the nature of memory and desire, and I fell asleep almost as soon as the end credits started rolling. The same thing happened the night previous with Baxter, another gem from the French. A cursory inspection of the box at the store gave me the erroneous impression that it was an out-and-out comedy when in fact it was quite not. I like unexpected surprises though.  

I don't care much for voice-overs in general except in foreign films. They're an exception because the words, strange and meaningless to me, become an exotic score of sorts instead of a distraction, if that makes any sense. Maybe that's what lulled into near-sleep. Or maybe it was just the hypnotic sing-song of the French tongue. 

Or maybe I was just really tired. 

I'm writing this at work and there are one hundred eighty-eight minutes left to kill. 

I wish I was outside right now. I hope the clouds are still there when I'm done.