One of those days when I have absolutely nothing say. Life feels as flat and thin as an empty piece of paper.

I spent most of yesterday afternoon out on the back porch reading Toni Morrison's Beloved. I think her writing is meant for people with more spirit--or more spirituality--than I possess. I can see where I'm supposed to connect with the narrative on something more than an intellectual level, but I don't have another level in me, and I don't think I ever will. I wish I could write like she does, but then again, I don't think I want to have the kind of soul I would need to have to do it.