Lord, where did I go wrong? Last night I was overcome by this terrible dread in the midst of my dreams. I saw a woman clutching a sort of iron grandfather clock. She muttered a name, ANOF perhaps. I don't understand the meaning of this. Even having returned to the confines of my room I could not bear the feeling the loomed over me. 

I look at that picture of myself with Grantas on the cover. My face is symetrical, well developed. I look like a charming young boy. Healthy even. Can I blame anyone but myself if at that age I was proper developed? I drudge in this topic but truly it has affected me so greatly. I visualize myself in 4d slowly transforming into this monster I am now. Sometimes I look in the mirror and am satisfied, but it does not last. I think I have written plenty on beauty, but I will reiterate. Through some stupidity, probably self-isolation I had subscribed to the nerd side from too early on. It was a weak move. But it's as if I internalized every intellect over beauty motif peddled by hollywood from far too early.