I have slept through October, and now it is November, I don't know who I am. And I am so furious with myself, for not knowing my own heart. What did I ever do to myself, to deserve this obscurity? I don't deserve this insolent treatment like I am an unearthly, foul creature. What do I deserve then? I am still here, still in my room, with freezing walls, writing about the philosophies of my mind, writing for the sake of it all. But the more I...