February 12th

I love not doing anything all day. You've probably figured this audience, after all sloth is one of my nature vices. I did do things (boring things) but nothing particularly worthwhile. Well, I did edit some chapters for a fictional story that I've been writing forever, I suppose that's something. What? No you can't read it. For my eyes, and eventually some publishing company's desk, only.

Nah nah nah naaaah nah!

Tis all.

What did you say?

Crap. Fine have a couple of simple riddles composed by yours truly.

My hat is a smokestack

My bottom a bell,

Your hand cannot crush me,

But a fall cracks my shell.

I wear a flat apron,

Pattern never the same,

My scent is of wheat,

Now what is my name?

I can make a house but its walls are filled with holes

I can have a face but its expression is always stone

I can start at one but I often prefer two

I can lay flat on the ground but I love to hold you

Sometimes you love me

Rarely you destroy me

Usually you curse at me

From time to time I catch your eye

Whisper close to me now

Who exactly am I?