I am sitting at the edge of the bed, face in hands, trying to push out the puss. When strength premits, I look up at the digital clock, thinking a short is causing time to move so fast. I start taking an anti-depressant today. Images of goals not attained coursing through mind: career as filmmaker and Fran for wife. Mind feels chocked like a migrain without the pain. I can hear blood coursing through middle ear loudly, like ideas screaming to be expressed, but no will anymore to make them real.
I continue to feel the loss of not having made love years ago. Fran would have been the answer, but life, again, seems resolved at putting me on a different path. Office work was my bread and butter three months ago, but this collapse makes that seem surreal.
I hope the pill will ease the pressure and help me forget how settled I felt when Julie was with me. If it can grant me that peace, then maybe I can complete the artificial environments, finish the movie, and maybe sell it for a fortune. I could settle for being eccentric, because society spits on the alternative.