Today was a day. I failed to get any sleep last night, and when morning came I got a call from my mother saying my uncle, who I had been meaning to write a letter for awhile, had died and I hadn't gotten to see him for around eight years. I was out of milk so I had cold dry cereal for breakfast. And when I got back to my room after lunch, I bashed my head on the door frame while trying to bring in some packages. The saving graces of the day were good friends, good coffee, and good tobacco. (The boxes were premium coffee beans and plum pudding tobacco.)