Just wrote a bunch of letters to lovely people. A lot of the letters are so self-eccentric to a point that I can’t tell whether I’m actually conscious of my being, or I’ve surpassed actual consciousness and I’m making everything up. And then I have a friend tell me on the phone that she has a “party” friend an LA, so that when she’s there for training, she can get away from people who are “in their own head.”

One day, one day I’ll do what I want, and not know that I’m doing it at all.