The windows in my parent's dining room frame the fine lines of bare branches and a quintessential November twilit sky. The wind is begining to blow and the branches are scratching out rhythms on the panes of the skylights above and prodding the mind. Am troubled lately by things that fall short of fruition; by all the inspiration and excitement and energy that's been quelled by an advancing scourge of jadedness. Remember sitting at this table on a bright autumn day and feeling that thrill? No more. What was once so persuasive in proving its welcomed reality has revealed its inherent artificiality; and for fauxness, we've given away some of our best. It's always a jolt when we discover how heartbreak has cleverly disguised itself as joy and how it has fooled us completely; a shock when all the ornate architecture and scenery falls away to show the blank brick wall at the back of the theater. It's not just the willing suspension of disbelief; it's being a willing Jackass. It's only a matter of time till this unruly chapter will recede and fade to just another blunt memory. Or let it gnaw&gnaw... There is something about this room that takes strong hold of one's thoughts, but luckily I can't sit here and ruminate for too long--must meet M & J & T in a half hour for some full measures of Murphys and backlogged stories.