I set myself to write and the words fad away from me; the thoughts, ever effervescent, are too bashful, self-conscious of their own meanness. Yet it is time to put the words to the page. I am hollow, seeking a center: pets welcome, no smokers. Dreams are my only constant friends: I dream I have friends beside me, laughing with me, and I wake up in my bed, the sheets thrown off. I am so cold in the morning, leaving my friends behind.