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May 10, 2004
Last night, I didn't feel well. Driving home I nearly threw up, winding around the roads as they blurred. I remember thinking, in that altered state, of so many things to write. I had ideas, hundreds, the words and phrases swimming in front of my fingers. Unfortunately, when I finally stepped into my living room, I passed out on my sofa. Today I can't remember any of them, at least not in their entirety. Fragments are the only things I feel, now. Fragments that aren't memories, and never could be – because, of course, they never were in the first place.