2001-10-17 - 12:47 a.m.

Dearest Beloved,

My waiting is hurtful. I do not want to stay at my work place, but at this point I have no other choice.

I have not started my costume either. I must do so today.

I'm totally alone again. No one to talk to about anything. Despair, despair.

The fear of dying that I have been having controls my behaviour to the point of segregating myself from anything that moves.

Silly, willy, fun, fun.