Flights of fancy, moving from one thing to the next seemingly unattached from anything of substance or duty. Stopping to smell the flowers, nay stopping to relax in beauty. Fluttering to and fro with seeming indecision it is a wonder how it works. With each jump, more confusion. How can all this seeming ambivalence lead to production. Oh, how I wish my the seeming folly of my life lead to this sweet nectar!
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