I need to have a breakthrough soon, into more authentic entertainment. I’ve had it with metaphors, they’re too hard to maintain—you try putting a cat’s head on a cod’s body and selling it every night. I’m spoiling for something more actual.
A long day of not doing my job, another one of these long, stuffy, unprofitable days which have been accumulating lately like the beginnings of a habit—why can I so rarely be the cheerful being I really am? Where have my industry, my dexterity, my curiosity gone? I miss my appealing antics too—I’m disappointed too when the day sees nothing but my uncooperative back. Hunkered in the corner of a private cage, nursing a baby doll phone—don’t tell me I’m pining for normality again.