Oct. 26, 2003 @ 6:15 p.m.

I’ve hung on long enough. Clang to the ceiling, staring downward, then too quickly back up, but now I’m falling. Falling to the bottom of what I do not yet know but that I am shortly to find out. I’d like to think that I let go on my own merits, but I can’t lie about my fingers ripping off like badly sewn parts of a rag doll from the 1920s. It’s hard to function without your dignity or fingertips.