I sit in the wooden chair, too far from the radiator to truely feel it's warmth. The dripping of the tap rouses me from a sweet daydream. Or maybe a sour one. I can't remember. The refridgerator whirs lazily. I long to hear the sound of my hands tapping on the typewriter. It's been too long Since I've had inspiration. Droplets of rain on the window calm my worries about the world. I feel nautious, like anything I eat won't stay down, but I get up to get a biscuit. I chew on it absentmindedly, as it passes the time as I wait for reluctant words to come.