Reception/Production Switchpoint

I and others around me are making slow but steady progress toward nocturnality. Nocturnes make the saddest songs. Song has $313 flights to Palo Alto but I'm having a hard time committing to booking a flight. There's a half dozen cut-up pieces of Civ Pro textbook near me, some disgustingly streaked with peanut butter from the afternoon's protein habit. I got a sack of jelly beans after dinner that promised "Fruit Bowl" flavors but thus far I've tasted beetles' legs, peppercorns, mown grass, and a little green pill fulla fumaric acid calling itself "pear." Does anyone have Peer Gynt to lend me? I'd like a listen. Listen, I'm just saying things to be saying things. Thingvellir--I ate ramen from a Naglene bottle here in a parking lot across the two-lane highway from the original Geyser, the O.G. Oh, gee! Genealogy of morals. Murals of dead kids shot up by other kids, near "Dr. Sex" scratched into the sidewalk. Walkie talkie. Talk and zhuo ai. I'm in an infinite loop! Loup et renard! Retarded progress toward fitting in all the personal jurisdiction I can before it's time to pay respects to contract law. Lawd, I'd better get back to reading.