I see a very blank page before me.
I hear my girl, Layla Grace, on the piano.
I taste nothing, but soon we are going to BJ’s, so all will be right with the world.
I smell nothing as my nose is beyond stuffy. I hate rabbit brush. Yes. You heard me. HATE IT. Ask around. I don’t hate anything. Except rabbit brush. SHOOT! What if I can’t taste my dinner because of the rabbit brush. CURSE YOU DAINTY YELLOW FLOWERS.
I feel tired. A little sad. Fearful. All done. Anxious. Melancholy.