Well, that explains the goat that keeps bleating at him like he's personally responsible for its being in the pen, every time he wanders into sight. "You know, I didn't have a single pet back home. I didn't even babysit other people's pets." It's the thing he's found hardest to believe, even with a dog crawling into his bed regularly and a bird all but living on his shoulder.

At least he likes birds.

"I...found some of those, when I moved into that house." They'd tipped the scale the other way, with the journal: things in his handwriting, things he thinks he would say. Over time, he stops being glad for all the people who don't know him, and wishes--he could talk to this Veronica, or the person who left him a goat. Talking to Bodhi always seems to upset the man, and he seems--easily upset.

"It's like--I believe you. It all sounds like things I could do, but I feel fake at the same time. Like I might be myself wrong at people, and I want to care how they feel, but I also want tell everyone to fuck off." By the time he acts, it's in spite of it all, and he's just tired, and he's standing around telling Mark how much he wants to tell everyone to fuck off. For all he knows, he's getting this wrong too.