But there are lots of bad things in the world of indications. Just to go there seems to mean seeking out ill.
As hints of fall come to us hereabouts, though it's still August, which is dog days in my core consciousness, I feel weary, wistful, relieved, sad, frightened, achy, lonesome, peaceful, confused, frustrated, bleak and near devastated, and ever so slightly accepting. And it's maybe four days in a row, maybe five, I've had the heightened sense of smell I sometimes get. I pick up scents right along with a high percentage of mere ordinary inhalations, even through my slack-jawed maw. Tasting smell.