If I jump from 100 feet up, will it feel like flying? No. Probably more like vertigo and I get enough of that without being so high off the ground.

I've got to get out of this. That's what that was referring to. Get out of this, so I'm talking to people and taking action, although only James has an idea about it. He says it's the best thing I can do. Because any way I choose, I'll feel guilty. This is the one where I'll end up feeling the least. Maybe it's selfish. He says no, he'd do the same. But I guess that's because we're both sick of carrying everyone else's burdens as if they're our own. We will, nevertheless, just not as much.

Speaking of vertigo, we went on an adventure last night and climbed to the top of the library. We found a door left open, probably inadvertently by some maintenance guys, and climbed up. The view was spectacular. We could see the whole city from way up there. I couldn't go near the edge unless I was crawling, though. He, of course, was all over the ledges. But the drop was straight down ridiculous 60 feet or more. I think it's more. He thinks it's 60. I climbed a ladder to a tower on the roof to get higher. I was shaking but the view was worth it. I held onto him and then it was all right.

The accomplishment was climbing down. I climbed down. I almost froze, but I climbed down and lookie, lookie. I'm still alive.

Everything looks so small and you feel so big from up there. The water was frozen up there but it wasn't on the ground, so just imagine how high we were. It makes me think of God. God is cold and omniscient and...lonely. What else could it be but lonely?

Now I don't feel as bad. But it's the same thing. We're all alone together and lonely apart.

Figures, don't it?