Journal writing just doesn’t seem appeasing anymore, but since I have a goal here’s the run down. Two days ago Joe got into a bad motorcycle accident. He flew of the bike going about 60 mph with no helmet. He’s going to live, but he messed himself up pretty bad. I went to see him at the hospital last night. His body is covered in road rash, both legs are smashed, his spleen is broken, took a chunk out of his eyelid, and there’s a hole in the back of his head. Jena’s not doing so well. I want to be there for her but these days I just don’t know how. My sensitivity is shot. I live each day by the minute waiting for nightfall to hit so I can get messed up and then pass out. There is no time to get to know each other again. We never plan anymore. We never dream. It’s go, spend, work all around the clock. It is four in the morning and I am forcing myself to fill each line with at least something. I enjoy being alone but my persistence frightens me. Am I better off this way? Pretending. Ignoring. Watching. A reluctance to let go of all that surrenders to strength will collapse with communism.
December 19, 1998