And As The Elevator Descents, Passing The

But... What About Us? What About The Past?" She Asks Blankly. "the Past Isn't Real. It's Just A Dream," I Say. "don't Mention The Past.

It's Like My Characters, All My Men Are Dad And Me In A Mess; All My Female Characters Are Smart And Hopeful, Like Mom Just Trying To Make The Best Of Things.

I Have All The Characteristics Of A Human Being: Blood, Flesh, Skin, Hair; But Not A Single, Clear, Identifiable Emotion, Except For Greed And Disgust. Something Horrible Is Happening Inside Of Me And I Don't Know Why. My Nightly Bloodlust Has Overflown Into My Days. I Feel Lethal, On The Verge Of Frenzy. I Think My Mask Of Sanity Is About To Slip.

I'm On The Verge Of Tears By The Time We Arrive At Pastels Since I'm Positive We Won't Get Seated But The Table Is Good, And Relief That Is Almost Tidal In Scope Washes Over Me In An Awesome Wave.

I Am Gripped By An Existential Panic.