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2002-12-17 - 12:16 p.m. Hmmm. It has occurred to me that my writing has been less than inspiring lately. Now, when one is sitting down questioning one's ability to come up with a long depressive moanfest, what does that mean? Am I feeling better, or am I just too preoccupied to care either way? Eh, I dunno. The sun is out and it is a beautiful day outside, even if it is damn cold, and I only have to work three hours today and tomorrow I have the day off so I can be a dork and go to a matinee of "The Two Towers", and therefore life has taken a momentary turn towards an illusion of goodness. Apparently the community band did a concert at the other end of the mall last night, and one of the musicians came in carrying a long instrument case, so I asked him if it was an alto flute. He ended up showing me his 1920s soprano saxophone, and we ended up talking a little bit. He went to the same school that I did, but not as a music major, but he auditioned for the jazz band his freshman year and got in, which was pretty impressive. I told him the name of the director and he remembered the name from his time at school. It's funny how sometimes random conversations with strangers can be so inspiring. I think I might just go practice flute now. Perhaps I am on the road to recovery. Maybe an unpaved backroad, but I'm going somewhere nonetheless. Have a lovely afternoon all. 
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