I feel like Quentin Compson, trapped in a world which no future exists for me, only a cold indifferent past. While the present, lasting only a mere moment, fades quickly into a dream.
I haven't been sleeping well. I haven't been eating. I guess the realization of one's own mediocrity and unimportance is never pleasant.
Luckily, Steinbeck has been saving me. Everyone was right. 'East of Eden' is fantastic.