It surprises me sometimes just how long I can stare at the same blank spot on a white wall without coherent thought… only feeling. [sarcasm]What a great way to write a novel.[/sarcasm] I think instead I’ll go out in the cold rain for a while. If my flute case wasn’t busted, I’d take the flute with me and sell it. Maybe I should just sell the computer. Beginning of the month, end of the month, none of it changes what’s going on. Still immersed in desperation.