Reading about Sartre and Beauvoir. I'm not sure how good it was, but at least they weren't alone - one sacrificed a good deal, but I suppose it's all how you look at it. I've taken my night time cold and flu medicine, and I'll read about how they die... the wrap-up.
She (simone) had fits where she was afraid of the 'mortality and abyss'. I like reading about this in others because it makes me feel not so alone. I had a tiny touch of it today - the break with reality. I find that I'm really into my oldest cat (padz zizmore).
I am by turns scathingly lonely and achingly anti-social. This will pass.
I swang on the swings in the sand today - at the beach. It was nice as it was last time. On the way back, I was sweating like an old lady with empheseuma. When i got home, i was so bored. The phone had been silent all day (jane just called and it turned out that she had slept through today thanks to nyquil). I had eaten everything in the house. I had drank (weird conjugation, but I think it's correct) the orange juice. So, I smoked a fag butt. Not that I was yearning for nicotine. It just felt like something to do. The strangeness. (often reading books about writers and women writers especially will make me feel a strange way - well, I should say this is only the third one I've read, so not sure about often.)
I blame the cold meds. This has been a strange christmas season.