Awake for no good reason, and tense. Dreams, I think: vague recollection of something bad in a sick and twisted sense wanting to do things to me. Bad things. Dead things. Avoiding going back to bed for that very reason.

We should talk of loneliness and desperation and balance, and have a Stoli fruit cup or two in the process. We are better than that makes us sound, though we are damaged we are not diseased.

Not eye said the blind man.