March 25th, 2002 - 11:06 p.m.

sickish, therapy, bah.

am feeling sickish. it is deadly cold out, the wind tearing through the bare outstreched trees, snaking its way under buttoned black woolen peacoats. this landscape is too barren. look forward to mountains and open ocean. still waiting.

must learn to gain a sense of direction. i abhor buses, transit without a track, too much uncertainty. was late for appointment. therapy is a joke, best left for those who never consume themselves with self-analysis. the only conclusion drawn: double the dose. sigh, if you must.

'tomorrow is another day.' to permiate the mind with self doubt in general ability to fend for self and wrestle off boredom.

n.

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