A Tale of Woe

I have my melodramatic head on. It demands I write something angsty and wanted nothing whatsoever to do with the man who climbed out of a mailbox (thus I wasn't allowed to plot his short tale today, although I'm desperate to know why he's so interested in the store catalogue) and it discouraged any work on my next long piece (a dollop of the 1920s, plus a side slice of the dystopian and a footstep into the far future, known as the mad escapade into losing my marbles or achieving world dominat...