Work event. Henna is trying to flee in a minivan, Jeff Hester and I attempting to stop her. I shatter a window with my knife. Somehow I guess we manage to stop her.

We have a meeting, Zaucha is leading. Henna is babbling, and Steve tells me to shut up. I retort that it was not me talking but the rest of the “class” (felt like high school) started to say how much I talked in the last two meetings.

I get very depressed and suicidal. I wander off in my own and find a police van, drive it into a pond. A revolver is in the van. I pull the hammer back, and I am pointing it at my head. Eventually stop pointing it, lower the hammer.

A policeman walks by; I ask to turn myself in. He is the most inept officer. He begins to make a sketch of me, with a bizarre process starting with a rubbing of my face, fed into a machine that 3D prints my likeness out of cookie, much like gingerbread. We talk and I’m calmer.

I head home. A friend stops by the store and buys cigarettes. I think about starting to smoke, but I don’t recognize any of the brands and don’t purchase anything.

At home, our pet Pallas cat is roaming the grounds outside, presumably dug a hole out of our bunker. Lisa is on a hammock beside the smoker friend.