I'm walking around today like an angst-stricken existentialist, feeling like I have a face from a Picasso painting, both eyes on the same side of my face, my mouth upside down on the other side of my face babbling nonsense, feeling like Hamlet, to be or not to be, seeking to avenge something, but I do not know what I am to avenge. It's all very perplexing. Pascal says a vapor, a drop of water, a mere whisper, will kill a man. I think I know what he's talking about.