I’m out. Depression is over. It’s hard to breathe. My back hurts, although it could be from tennis, I’m sure is for the more than ten thousand calories that I ate this weekend. I can’t do this anymore. You’re out. Please stay away. Let me be. Stop this nonsense.
I miss him and he’s still around. I wish I could watch a western movie again.
I love Ennio Morricone.