In this life, there are nothing but possiblities. Panther seems to have killed my printer, or at least pissed it off so bad that it won't talk to me anymore. And the writing bug bit, briefly, before I was loaded down with a record number of books to read for my classes. (10 at last count, not including what I might end up reading for an independent study course)
February is already shaping up to be quite interesting. But why am I even thinking about shit that far ahead in the future? The Wayfarer accords with the present.