i spent yesterday in a scratchy wool sweater and a pair of socks dizzy from homemade wine, cigarettes, and too much harmonica. it would seem that this is a good combination for me. i started writing yesterday and have not stopped since. i'm on chapter four of what i think might be a book. it doesn't have a title and none of the characters have names, but it feels right. it is funny, you never know how a day will turn out.