I threw out my weed, my cigars, the last of the biccardi.
I'm going to face this. Who knows what caused my shift? Plaster affecting me?
I don't think so.
Maybe it was remembering Sandra, and her part in this. Maybe it was my meditation.
Maybe I've just gotten angry again.
Im hurt, hurt bad. I don't even want to talk about it.
I feel like throwing my desk around, I feel like killing all of you. I feel intense sorrow and overwhelming joy.
I can't give up on you fuckheads, you assholes you sniveling bitches just yet.
I cant run. Being not sober won't help the coming days. Plasterface has been whispering to me about my destiny.
Reach is the Rook. Reach ______
The letters scramble has yet to be solved, but Im feeling confident. I am fire.
I AM FIRE.