Today I rambled: to Coton, to town, to town again, home. In the interstices, through some of a book. It was quiet and perfect, except for that part where I had to leave a movie before it was over because even in the dark I could feel the color draining out of my skin as clammy waves of nausea lapped at me. That was not cool, especially when (in my hurry to get out of the theater) I ran smack into two women sitting in seats at the top of the aisle. In the end, nothing happened, but I felt grim enough to decide to go home--which means I'll be seeing The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly again soon, as I would have wanted to do anyway.