Eira's fervent insistence that I 'touch grass' has, in a rare instance, been heeded. The specimen I have selected for botanical analysis is, according to my sister's less-than-scholarly critique, 'a weed.' She remains undeterred in her mission to 'recalibrate my circadian rhythm' through exposure to natural light, a process I find both illogical and inconvenient.

My own observations confirm that the sun is, in fact, quite bright, and the ambient noise of birds is an inefficient substitute for a well-curated playlist. The neighbor’s curtains are drawn. A prudent strategy against such aggressive displays of 'vitamin D.' I shall return to my climatologically controlled chamber of knowledge presently. This is a one-time concession.