Plastic bags like pillow clouds

When the weather warms up and bathing suit season finally commences, the users of the trail change from being almost exclusively joggers and dog walkers to couples. Suddenly when I go for a run I'm afraid to stop at any of the viewpoints for fear of walking into an awkward situation.

I'm working on a different floor than I was last year, the only floor in the building which the women's washroom isn't right beside the stairwell. Instead, where the women's washroom should be, were I on any other floor, there is a men's washroom, where I accidentally end up quite regularly because I'm on autopilot.

As far as I know, the women's washroom on my floor is the only one that has a full-body mirror. I've been known on occasion to walk right up to the life-sized me on the wall and think that damn, I'm short. I'm so used to having everyone out there be taller than me that I only really notice I'm short when I'm faced with someone the same height as me. Odd, I know.

I took a moment today to watch a plastic bag float through the air, playing in the updraughts in the atmosphere about a hundred metres above the ground, until eventually it concluded its ascent and began to drop with the same grace with which it rose. Eventually everything succumbs to gravity. It's only a matter of time.

Wow, that's kind of morbid. Wasn't really meant to be. I'm going to bed now.