I am feeling very sad. Sad enough to want to go off by myself and sob. There is no particular reason for it; nothing is that much different from yesterday. And, of course, there is where a psychiatrist would say, “Perhaps that is the problem.”
But I don’t think it’s that; I think I just feel sad. Why not?
So what am I going to do with this sadness? Heck if I know. Oh, dear, I just remembered the post before this one . . . If anyone turns up murdered, I didn’t do it. It would just be a coincidence. Then would this be where the psychiatrist would say, “There are no coincidences.” And I would be so piqued I would pull out my new knife from my shopping bag resting beside the Shrink C ouch?
I suppose it would take me so long to get the plastic off, he would manage to run out the door.
This plot is thickening too much. You know you don’t think so much about being sad when you’re trying to decide whether you would run after him? Maybe hide the knife. But where? It’s not like you can swallow it. Or flush it down his private toilet.
Throw it out the window? First wipe your prints off. What if it hits him as he runs out the main entrance to the street? What if the window doesn’t open. What if the session was being recorded? THINK, AMELIAJAKE, THINK.
I don’t know . . . maybe being sad was easier.