I'm a little confused about time and space. I went home this afternoon, took a nap, and went right back to work. I regret having a bed that lies flat against the floor; I'd like to crawl underneath it. I love Fidgets, I do, but it's already wearing off. I'm not never going to drink whiskey no more. I don't want to talk. I found the perfect music. It makes everything better, but I'm afraid of using it up. It feels like I'm squeezing it in my hands, a water snake that's going to get away, sliding slowly but necessarily out of my grip. It's like when you see someone about to hurt themselves, and you know you don't have time to warn them, but you open your mouth anyway. "Ah!" Oh, I'm already such a crab; what will be left for my old age? I'm in love and I'm furious.