It's so late. I'm writing letters again. I feel sad. So maybe I shouldn't write letters.
Need some tea. But it will keep me awake. So I won't have any.
I need to start keeping records. The pedant in me has yet to rise to the occasion.
Tomorrow I will be sleeping in my own home again, in my own bed. Perhaps I won't do as much walking.
It's so hard to know when you've had enough talking. I never feel like I have. It's so hard to know how to pray sometimes.
Not sleeping is terrible. But joy cometh in the morning...
On this Earth you can't ever reach the destination. It can't happen. You think that a change will make you happy and then sit waiting for the next change after it happens. I hope life is OK by April. If not I may just wander off and live in a cave by the ocean and eat seaweed and shark's eggs.
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