Maybe it's not such a good thing that we live next to an Office Max. I just spent about $70 on ink cartridges for one printer. So I can print stories, which presumably I can sell. It wouldn't be so bad, except that I bought paper there earlier this afternoon. I have the uncomfortable feeling that this qualifies me for membership in the techno-peasantry. Gads, I almost feel like I should find an old spin-writer. Or locate my old type-writer from ages ago (although I'm not sure what I did with it after my old housemate, Keith, blew up one of its capacitors with his volt-meter. . . ).
Granted, I haven't had to buy ink cartridges for this particular printer in over a year, so I guess it works out to less than $8 a month. But still.