if i knew what i had to do, i would do it. i'm hand-to-stomach, holding in my organs, which are all rats trying to escape a sinking ship. but what am i supposed to do? i'll take the letter & show the people at financial aide & say "please give me more money, does this count as desperation finally? what part of sole source of income is so tricky?" where is mary poppins to tell me to fly kites made from panes of glass or kipling's khan for me to set ablaze with birthday cake candles.