I wish I could rebegin at the actual beginning, instead of fostering some false desire to write the first things that come to my mind. they have come and gone already, although no one realizes it (besides myself and maybe tabitha). The rain outside inspires me to feel differently than I wanted to when I woke up, but of course...the rain always wins that battle and I find myself slipping into the dreary tranquility of the morning, with no desire outside of apathy. I feel like Charles Wright, perhaps, just before he composes some of his blue poetry.