"I have stopped paying much attention to time. Minutes slip into hours and hours disappear into days and so on and so forth. Whereas I spent the last few months obsessing over time, treating minutes like precious jewels that had to be treasured; I now fail to get anything done within the space of even a whole day. Mornings are spent desperately trying to fall back into the oblivion of sleep and afternoons are wasted with aimless wanderings or staring blankly into space. The evenings are the worst. I had become too used to filling time with writing and drawing, making art and reading of beautiful, impossible things. I had filled my own head with unattainable dreams. Now, I waste the hours. I waste them because I have no idea what else to do with them. This little life is too small for me and I feel stifled by it. I have the unshakable sensation that I am completely lost in the world, but that world is surrounded by an impenetrable glass dome. It is like being trapped in a snowstorm within a snow globe. There is very little room to really lose yourself and there is no chance of escape - unless you succeed in smashing the edges of it to bits - but, because of the ceaseless snowfall, you see no way out, therefore believing yourself to be lost."