I woke up this morning wringing my hands. I am alone in the apartment; John and Wendy have gone to do laundry. Despair floats about the empty apartment like fog. I am about to be depressed. I know it. I feel its approach the way an epileptic must sense seizure.
August 19th, 1982
August 19th, 1982
August 19th, 1982
I woke up this morning wringing my hands. I am alone in the apartment; John and Wendy have gone to do laundry. Despair floats about the empty apartment like fog. I am about to be depressed. I know it. I feel its approach the way an epileptic must sense seizure.