Air Conditioning.

Writing to get the shit out, I guess.

My mood, if I may be so brash as to assume I have any ownership over said mood I exude, is instantly lifted with the beginnings of the poorly circulated air conditioning. Cold air blows out of the machine in one direction, at one temperature. The thing could run for hours and one would only ever feel it in the living room. So I stay in the living room, switching it off every fifteen minutes or so when it gets too cold blowing directly against skin and the white noise drowns out any other background noises that I'm also trying to drown out.

That isn't true. I like Korey's synth work. It's the first I've really heard of it. A pleasant break from the cheap keyboard that had a permanent playable home at the old residence. They keyboard usually only came on when I was late out the door, causing the duo to spend more time in limbo at home than where ever our destination would prefer us. Grabbing a bag full of "essentials" and determining whether or not I need to use the bathroom before I leave the house (yes, now I do, because I'm thinking about it, and all it takes is the reminder that I have access to a bathroom and my body suddenly decides it's time to pee again) takes the same time out of my day as the creation of an entire songs' riff takes from Korey's.

I think he has more hours in his day. I don't know where he finds them. I'm fascinated by his time management, as silly as that is. He's always inspired. Even when just browsing the computer, it's never mindlessly. I could reread the same facebook updates of friends three times a day out of habit, but Korey's always learning, processing, acquiring, inspired.