Heart may still be the fire in hearth but I'm suddenly too cold to continue, and besides, there's no hearth here anyway and it's the end of June. Thursday. Almost noon. And all the buttons on my corduroy coat are gone. I don't know why. I'm sorry Hailey. I don't know what to do.

Prometheus, thief of light, giver of light, bound by the gods, must have been a book.

One forgets that one is one. I must try to remember this.

I could see her get all nervous but she was also excited. Nightmares have that quality, don't they?

I want something else. I'm not even sure what to call it anymore except I know it feels roomy and it's drenched in sunlight and it's weightless and I know it's not cheap. Probably not even real

I will walk heavy, and I will walk strange.

House of Leaves is certainly about the unsettling nature of fear - and it was my aim to address that - but its also about recovering from fear.