I think I'm going to break the mold of this book. I don't know. Was there ever a mold in the first place? I suppose not. I don't know why, but I feel this weird sense of longing I guess. This weird sense of anxiety and emptiness that plagues the very depths of the hidden crevices of my soul. It permeates the moments in which I should love to become moments in which I feel detachment. Certainly not healthy, but not entirely unknown. A kind of feeling that completely wrecks your very enjoymentin life. No pure break from this undeniable lack of emotion. I don't understand. I don't know. I don't know. I don't.... I just don't, I can't. Well whatever. I don't need to feel, to understand, to know. I apologize for the derailment of this. I also apologize for the random unloading of my thoughts.
James
