I'm in Nevada.  No big deal.  She's not the only one who sees places.  That's what I do, you know?  I do what I do.  I'm tired.    All I can do is what I do.  I'm in front of an IHOP, trying to pysch myself up to go in and order a breakfest with Banana Pudding pancakes I saw in a commercial the other day.  If I psych myself up, I won't feel so guilty afterwards.  I'm not really hungry.  I had three oatmeal cranberry cookies bout half an hour ago.  I had a good excercise session today; I did 8 activities, legs, back, you name it.  Then I blow it all in the midnight hours, I cry more more more.  I get depressed when I can't sleep.  And I often can't sleep these days...except in the afternoons.  I usually get up around 4pm.  Today I woke up near brunch time, and I still couldn't sleep.  So I drove to Nevada.  I get pretty depressed when I'm not eating.  The worst is when I'm near finished eating.  I wonder what she's doing.  I do good when I stick to my diet.  My dreams haven't been nearly as pleasant recently. I get depressed when she gives me bad news in dreams.  So what?  Don't look at me like that; lots of people have recurring characters in their dreams.  In the afternoons I sleep like a log.  I get pretty depressed having to think about working out.  I'll torture myself for a couple hours, or try to keep sleeping, before I get up and pysch myself up.  It's all about the pysch.  I wonder if she's married.  I think she might be an English professor.  But the people on my phone who communicated this to me while they were watching my face in action may have been purposefully misleading me, disseminating misinformation, as it were.  They showed me a picture of a baby that looked like her and some blond guy, the villain.  Then they showed an unflattering picture of what my baby would look like, with missing teeth.   Maybe she works for the CIA.  Maybe she's a movie director.  The CIA's always trying to take me down.  The thing is though, what I've learned, at least thus far, I've never been able to correctly spell breakfest.  I read Aliens for Breakfest, and yet, I still can't spell the word to save my pancake—