Christmas Eve. Well, day, it’s 02:34 now. I have Easy Rider playing. It’s in Ogg Vorbis format, very clean. I’m drinking Budweiser. It seems weak. During my last internment in Bakersfield, I drank a lot of this swill. It seemed fine at the time. Perhaps since most of it was free. The immediate desperation of Thanksgiving has not hit me. The images are still burning my optic nerves: frantic pacing, nervous swipes of a razor against my arms and legs. I felt forgotten by everyone. I know now that I was missed by my friends. I wonder if I will go anywhere today. I should. I feel like I should be around the people that care about me. I find it difficult to leave my apartment. The two are difficult to reconcile. I’m glad that I was visited here last week rather than trekking to California, I don’t like moving. If I’m ever going to shake this malaise and move back there, I should start small and at least venture out on a holiday to visit people I haven’t seen in a while.