I am a prisoner in my own home, in my own mind. The stress is manifesting bouts of rage and despair. It is heavily squeezing me deeper inside of myself rather than helping me pop out.
There was a literary festival in the park today beneath the Brooklyn Bridge. I had the desire to go but it was a forty five minute walk and I just couldn’t raise myself up to it.
All this pressure from Musette, it’s making me act irrationally, against my own principles. I blew up on R and berated Oona. It was a pathetic move on my part, going into Oona like that. It was not planned. After the fiasco with R, it just sort of spun on, further out of control.
The character in Twin Peaks whom I related to most of all just killed herself. The one eyed jack.