Oh, I feel one of those black days coming upon me. It usually begins with computer trouble, and then the air changes, like when a storm's a-comin', and the whole world and everything in it makes this infinitesimal prismatic shift, from bland normalcy to bleak twisted horriblicity. My salsa tastes like garbage. My milk is curdled. These are not metaphorical flourishes, it's literally true. It was expensive salsa, too, fancy label and everything. I should just stick to Pace. The taste of ashes is in my mouth. Not just ashes, sackcloth and ashes. Have you ever tasted sackcloth? Oh, it's bad. How bad depends on what was in the sack. This current sack must have been carrying a gangrenous foot. Let me tell you, some things are good in the sack, but not gangrenous feet. Not even healthy feet, come to that. Freaking computer. I would say fucking, but I don't feel that's appropriate for a family blog like mine. Although avoiding the use of a term that's responsible for families in the first place is kinda mirth-producing, don't you think? Or would be, if I weren't succumbing to the nameless void, like I am. Maybe I should give it a name, maybe that would defuse its inexorable power over me. Something cheerful, like Ruby-Ann. It would be difficult to tell myself I was succumbing to Ruby-Ann without smiling. Smiling's a start.