1924, Feb 14.

A steady day. My first look back in my office since the Asylum. I wasn't there for work, not that people were lining up outside in awe of the service I provided. I was just picking up the mail. It occurred to me last night that people trying to reach me would send to the office... Can't think who might be trying to reach me... but... It was worth checking.

Nobody but billers were in contact, and apparently I have a fair few to pay. I might have to get back to work... back to the office...

That seven point star still perplexes me... I just... I don't know what to make of it. It's so normal yet so... different and... I don't know... indescribable?