It's not your fate to be well treated," Ignatius cried. "You're an overt masochist. Nice treatment will confuse and destroy you.

Jail was preferable. There they only limited you physically. In a mental ward they tampered with your soul and worldview and mind.

My life is a rather grim one. One day I shall perhaps describe it to you in great detail.

Mother went out again tonight, looking like a courtesan.

Apparently I lack some particular perversion which today's employer is seeking.

My mother is currently associating with some undesirables who are attempting to transform her into an athlete of sorts, deprave specimens of mankind who regularly bowl their way to oblivion.

Oh, Fortuna, you capricious sprite!