I keep looking at this room, you know? It’s supposed to be… well, it’s just a room now. Empty. Like, my wife – bless her heart – she was all, "You should have a space, a proper one, for your… your stuff." And I thought, yeah, okay. That sounds good. We just had the kids leave, youngest is off to that big city university, so suddenly there's all this space, like too much space, and she meant well. She really did. So we cleared it out, painted it a nice neutral colour, even got some new blinds. It’s a good room. Big window facing the orchard, lots of natural light. Perfect, someone might say. And I’m just… staring at it. It’s been months now. MONTHS. And it’s still just… a room. Blank. I mean, the idea was that I’d set up my easel again, get the paints out, maybe even that big canvas I bought years ago, the one that’s still rolled up in the shed. I remember buying it, thinking, "This is it, this is the one that’ll be… something." But it’s still in the shed. And the easel? Probably covered in cobwebs. I sold most of my good stuff, the actual professional-grade things, back when… well, back when I needed to be serious. Needed to be responsible. That was years ago, right after we bought this place, when the market was weird and the farm wasn’t quite paying its way yet and we had that one unexpected vet bill that was just… oof. Someone had to make sure the bills got paid, right? And the accounting thing, it was steady. Good money. Reliable. Not like… not like that other thing. So now I’m here, middle of nowhere, everyone knows everyone's business, and I’m staring at this perfectly good, perfectly empty room, and I don't know what to do with it. My wife asks, "Have you started yet?" and I just mumble something about needing to organize my brushes, or waiting for the right inspiration. But honestly? I just… I look at it and there’s nothing there. Nothing in my head. Like the well just dried up or something. Or maybe it was never there to begin with. Maybe that whole thing was just… a phase. A youthful indiscretion. And now it’s just me, this room, and the silence. It’s not even sad, really. Just… flat. Like an old soda. Prrrrt. And that’s it.