I’m sitting in the garage again, it’s dark, kind of cold... I don’t know, I just can’t go inside. My wife’s probably wondering where I am. Or maybe she’s not. I mean, she can’t really do much. I should go in. But I just can’t. I guess I’m just so tired of... everything. All those paintings I never finished, the ideas... it just feels like it all ended. And now I just sit here, sort of stuck. My hands are still good, you know? For sculpting. But what's the point. I just feel like a bad person.