B: 24/6/2004

Too many questions. I'll be here tomorrow in body, if not in
mind.

Ugh. I hate drinking water. Tastes of nothing, does it? I tell you what
it tastes like: water. And it's not to my liking. I'll put up with it
if it's very very cold. I know it's good for me. That's why I have a
whole repulsive glass of it sitting next to me.

Oh, the joys of cutting myself off from the world. The light is
patient. There is the lightest of rain coming down outside the window,
like out of a mister. I hardly noticed it. I'm not aware of how fast I
type until I concentrate and then I have to slow down. It's odd how I'm
so utterly unused to being in this body, it's the only one I've
consciously had (or perhaps I've had many, I do believe in
re-incarnation. still...) I look in the mirror, and I don't know what
I'm expecting to see. Maybe I'm vain. I say I'm memorising my face.
Everyone else gets to look at me 24/7, I don't know what I look like at
all. What do I look like when I truly smile? When I'm laughing. I don't
know what I look like when I'm laughing. I don't know what I look like
when I'm crying. What do I look like when I'm crying? I can't
imagine.

The words come easily, sometimes, don't they? It isn't the end, now.
I'll keep writing. Pick me up on the way, in the middle.
I'm fluctuating between poetry and something more general. Speak
up.