On Sunday, November 30, 2003 
he remembered the previous night and thought, there is a fine line between self-restraint and self-denial.
On Saturday, November 29, 2003 he wondered whether to attempt a kiss.
On Friday, November 28, 2003 he went out with some friends, to a crowded bar in a small town with many reminders. Familiar strangers packed the bar, dozens of Merrill High graduates he hadn't seen in six years, since their approval mattered. Most everyone showed signs of weight gain or hair loss. This is it, he thought, this is times effect.
On Thursday, November 27, 2003 he ate turkey at his aunt's house. It was delicious.
On Tuesday, November 25, 2003 he immediately knew something was wrong because he was in the middle of the ocean and couldn't remember how he got there.
On Monday, November 24, 2003 he wrote: we come into this world pooping and wailing. What a fitting initiation into human life. Should we pay more attention to life as a whole, as a process, our poop-stained shriek of an entrance would serve us as a lesson in humility. Unfortunately no one I've heard of can remember earlier than age two or three, so these lesson are lost. Memorys fault, and our egos as a consequence.
On Sunday, November 23, 2003 was it confusion? Why the willingness to modify one’s behavior to accommodate another, why the tense, uneasy sensation of inauthenticity gnawing at the subconscious? Please stop screaming.
On Saturday, November 22, 2003 he invented a new cuss word after an elaborate mathematical procedure, fuck to the cunth power (fn) = funt. The phone rang. “You funting funt!”he screamed. Somewhere in Madison that night, a telemarketer’s brains painted the cubicle wall.
On Friday, November 21, 2003 this day was missed
On Thursday, November 20, 2003 he wondered if perhaps this daily monologue thing wasn’t excessively narcissistic.
On Wednesday, November 19, 2003 the conclusion to the second movement of Beethoven’s Sonata in G major, Op. 31, No. 1, was ruined when an audience meber began hacking and wheezing.
On Tuesday, November 18, 2003 his sister made him laugh on the telephone.
On Monday, November 17, 2003 he studied the enlightenment, the scientific revolution, the renaissance, and thought, this is the time when the human mind recognized itself, and of course, with this thought, my mind recognizes itself. I watch myself thinking.
On Sunday, November 16, 2003 the sun shone brilliant and piercing. He squinted at the cloudless blue sky. Perhaps everything would be okay.
On Friday, November 14, 2003 he marveled at the capacity of humans to assign meaning to an otherwise arbitrary world. This is our purpose, he thought, to invent our purpose.
On Thursday, November 13, 2003 the pianos were back, stalking through the cat tails near the pond, groaning deep bass chords and rolling into each other, all crash and tinkle, metal and wood, waiting for their next victim.
On Wednesday, November 12, 2003 he passed a girl he knew from high school walking down the street. Having nothing to say to her, really, he kept his eyes forward and walked past. Unbeknownst to him, however, she also feigned unrecognition, hoping he wouldn’t notice, unable to muster the energy for small talk on this day of all days.
