Tuesday, February 1, 1983


Penny asked me if I’d said anything to Lindsey over the weekend about how I feel. I said I hadn't.

Although Lindsey is part of my problem she’s not all of it. There’s also a feeling of narrowness, each day succeeding the last in an unbroken chain of monotony. I wake up each morning (or usually each afternoon) knowing exactly the way my day is going to go. This place is so limiting.

The thought of another day of the same faces, same people, same sense of dissatisfaction inside. . . .

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