2001-11-16 - 4:41 p.m.

I'm sure you caught the anagram auf 11/11/01.

I sit in complete darkness, thinking of time.

We're locked; caught.

And we've already died.. but you've realized this.

God, let the sickness end.

and when we can't forge on; when we remain subjugated by the whims of our sunken sheets.. Captured by the familiarity of defeat.. Another breathless day, unable to escape self-imposed victimization; we call such instances Sick Days. Chase..chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase