Today I marched through the false Spring leaning into an invisible wind. My red shoes, intended to cheer me up, were clean and neatly tied. I wrote a check for brain improvement, drank coffee, fought back waves of fear and horror, and cracked jokes. The following adjectives described me: glib, nuanced, dyspeptic, melancholy, narcissistic, irritable, anxious, fearful, itchy.
There was a madman walking up Dover drive as I arrived for therapy. He stopped to carefully comb his big bristly grey madman's beard and then went back to humping it up the hill. Later he showed up at D's and smoked in the corner looking like the wise homeless madman in a movie. However, I think he was just a regular madman.
You can't be the chorus in your own play, it turns out. You're stuck with "protagonist". Stupid rule.