I think I've lost the ability to relate to people. I left the party somehow and when I came back, everyone was speaking a different language. It is extrodinarily lonely to be surrounded by everyone and yet noone at the same time.
How does one come back from this? Where is my map, my sextant? This is unfair; being so acutely aware of Sartre's anguish. Where is my blanket? For protection and forts that hold secrets like a balloon. It has been used too long for sleeping while the other children played. It has forgotten it's purpose: and in it's forgetting so have I. My knees are brittle with effort.