Today is a good day to die. Or to have a bowl of soup. Whichever.

I got rained on when I walked out to get lunch today. In Los Angeles. It caught me by surprise. I had to ask a kindly merchant to give me an extra plastic bag to put my baby blue suede jacket in so it wouldn't get spotty and drenched. This proves that I don't have arthritis. I had no idea it was going to rain. Despite the grey skies and meteorologist predictions.

A short while ago, there was a woman walking around on the roof of the 99¢ Store across the street. I wonder if she was looking for something. Or if she was an inept jumper -- the victim of poor planning and a limited understanding of the physical laws.

A cool, white serpent of a cloud is crawling across the Hollywood sign right now. In seconds, it will be completely covered. I'd take a picture, but I recognize and respect the limitations of the lomo camera I carry in my handbag. It's a shame.

I think I have grown accustomed to looking at things from the outside in. Stealing glimpses from half-obscured windows. Peeking in on things in secret. Enviously eyeing a world of which I am distinctly not a part. The things I see, the bits I pick up -- they offer me no contextual relevance. Seeing anything -- knowing anything in this fashion is akin to its own form of sabotage. It creates the illusion of being an outsider. Even when the door is open and I am being invited to come inside.