sitting on a toiletbowl (now contentiously my most favourite place/ topic of conversation) in some charming countryside manor in Bolton (context) because the heater is conveniently located beside it and I am freezing my butt off and also because I have deemed myself too dirty to sit on the bed or couch so.. toiletbowl it is. because it is winter daylight shies away by 4pm and it is pitch black two hours later. and because all activity in stores is also consequently hushed and whirred down I am required to have extended hours of conversation/ interaction or a silence of convenience with my doddy (conflict) which I find rather novel. speaking of novels and the like, I finished a single man on the plane and am now well on my way to devouring waiting for godot (conflict resolution) while listening to the electric light orchestra songs my doddy is blasting (denouement)

i think that as much as they might try to escape it most stories invariably comprise the same skeleton in varying order (context plot introduction conflict conflict resolution conclusion though sometimes the second last might be lacking) is there any novelty or relief and not just a sense of ennui in knowing that mostly everything falls into stereotypes eventually because i am unaware of it but what do i know this desolate landscape is fodder for wandering thoughts