Sometime after four this morning, I wake up, blue. Like, real blue. Like, Blind Willie Johnson blue. In passing, people say "how are you?" as a greeting, not a question. I reply "good," or "fine." What would I say to people if I didn't have those two write-off words to turn to? "Why, actually, I have a terrible headache and my boogers are black and every time I see a happy couple in love I want to shoot them." Or something like that. Some days and moments are better than others, but for three hours I channel-surfed, ate gingersnaps in bed, smoked one of my roommates' cigarettes, flossed (twice), folded laundry, and otherwise puttered my sleep-time away. Sleep would not come.