14 July 2005 (yesterday) (tomorrow)

Immobilized by depression, my indulgence in long sleeping spells lasting at least twelve hours has become a habit.  So far, the crisis point has been reached twice; the crisis point being disappearing into my room and sleeping for an entire weekend.  Not good.  One was triggered by one the bad, final phone conversations with Guin.  The other was triggered by a frustrating, fruitless visit from Melinda Roenisch.

Marijuana sustains me for a few hours at a time, but its withdrawal effects compound my depressive episodes.  The mental illness that has been tugging at my sleeve my entire life has climbed atop my shoulders and is wrapping brute arms around my baffled, terrified brain.

Were you the final blow of the axe, Guin?

The Madeira Room at the swank Providence restaurant was crowded.  I stood in single file behind Peter Penz, with Series Producer Allison Corn and Executive Producer Tony Tackaberry next to me at the bar.

I canoodled with Peter Pentz, Dave Robinson, all the usual suspects.  I met Peg and Louisa, who both found me a little weird. 

We went over to Jon Douglas Rainey's house.  I talked to some girls, and ended up walking the streets with Ilse Fernandez, Ciara Lacy, Alex and Peter.