10:51 PM: It’s the Sunday before the first Monday back at school, and I have characteristically gifted myself with about 20 pages of notes to do before the crack of dawn. This chapter, Chapter 29, should be titled “All About Hitler,” because it is, in fact, all about Hitler—more than I care to know. If there was ever a subject that was my subject, it would be history. But I’ve come into a bit of a conflict about studying it. What I’ve come to feel is undeniably depressed about the fact that I spend hours of the present concentrating on the past. Believe me, I appreciate the past and the gift that it is, the invaluable lessons tucked away inside its pockets of experience. Although, it’s only natural for me to make myself miserable and think about all of the painting I could be doing in the present instead of filling my composition book with Hitler’s name.

It’s obvious to me now that this problem of liking something, yet failing to find purpose in it, is a recurring theme for me. But it’s 11 at night. All I can hear myself thinking are some repeating words of wisdom from the Aquadolls: “It don’t mean jack.” Am I trying to tell myself something? ♦