SEPTEMBER 3, 1983

Sunday, 11:00 a.m.

Talkin’ to myself:

The problem is—once again with feeling!—that it is so degrading.

Do you care about degrading?

Yes!

Why?

Because it erodes my self-confidence.

How?

Because I hate to watch myself twittering around, waiting for some attention. I never can win, so what’s the point?

What is the fucking point?