Colonel Mustard in the drawing room with a bit of lead pipe.

Things I read,
things I watch,
things I think --
they are all telling me to change,
to do something,
to stop letting things unfold the way they always do. As if everything -- all the answers -- can be found in a cootie catcher that I keep counting out the exact same way. If there are so many possibilities, why do I keep raising the same flap and finding the same promises and expecting things to turn out differently? My fortune cookie message tonight said something about me living out the rest of my life on hilltop and seaside resorts. It sounded like a nice way of saying that I have nothing else to look forward to. Or that I am about to be remanded to a minimum security prison.

I tell myself not to want what I don't have. But I've never managed to get to wanting what I do.