freaking myself out for nothing.
I just asked Mr. Ages if he was a dog or if, for authenticity, God would ask an Apocalyptic spy to eat so much shit?
4:16pm
I’ve been thinking that I don’t think I can write a confession. So I’ll just start by listing some regrets.
4:52pm
Just thinking about regrets. Why did I think that would do me any good?
Jan 6 9:01am
I'm wearing out my pictures.
I'm guessing it’s a combination of climate and dirty hands, but they're really beat up.
I'm afraid of losing the faces and the moments.
Is there anyone left to remember?
I feel as if their images keep them around somehow. That they're really just someplace else right now, but if the pictures are gone—it's like they are erased and yet I can't help looking.
Who else will remember their faces?
And I need to remember...
I don't want to think of anybody as winking out like the woman that was eaten by Neighborhood Watch back in Rhinelander.
I dream of dying like she did—not how I've seen anyone else die. It's always like her.
I can hardly remember what her face looked like when it wasn't screaming. I didn't see it that way many times.
There was the first time, when I realized there was someone at that house. She'd thrown out a mixing bowl of what I assumed to be piss.
She reminded me of Joan's sister in Romancing the Stone . The hair and build and now outdated clothes were right.
But I can hardly remember her face.
Jan 7 4:13pm
I wanted to find a library, but thank God I won't have to take any chances in a town, not for a book—because I found the book I needed here.
A book about climate and stuff in the US.
I have thought Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, maybe Kansas would suit me.
I guess when I find the place I'll know.
I'm deep in the stomach of winter. I'll get a chance to see the climate I fear the most.
It does slow them down, the winter. The cold.
It slows us all down.
Jan 8 9:40am
Am staying another day here. A winter storm came up last night—howling and blowing snow. To be out in it would be suicide.
The wind-chill must be merciless.
I have to kind of laugh at that when I think of winters in Rhinelander—which were better than the winters I knew in northern Michigan, where I lived until I was seventeen.
The wind is making Mr. Ages make the weirdest sounds. The last blast made the whole building rattle and groan.
Mr. Ages made a sound like "Row" or "Whoa".
His mouth looks short and puffy. I don't understand where all the mouth goes when dogs to that. Like how the bones in their face appear to be able to slide into their skulls when they bare their teeth.
I said, "Oh?" back at him and he kinda rolled his head at me while cocking it.
A series of almost verbal sounds followed. He looked like he was pleading his case.
I'm trying to be in a relaxed state of mind because every sound sounds like something and I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight.
I suppose it’s just as well, because I haven't been sleeping that good anyhow.
It's always too cold, even with a sleeping bag. And my arms and shoulder aren't healing right. They are definitely infected.
I took three aspirin and was able to put medicine on them. There was about 1/2 a tube of Polysporin in the medicine cabinet, in addition to a lot of things I had no use for—dentures, estrogen, hot oil, those nasty floss sticks and several prescriptions that I didn't understand.
But I did understand one of them.
Valium.
I stared at it for probably a minute and a half.
I didn't mean to, but when I closed the cabinet I did it hard enough that the sound startled me and everything fell over inside.
All those pills represented to me the Out of a quitter.
Who the fuck could waste their life so ungratefully when so many people didn't have any fucking choice what their last hour would be???
Lots of people. If you don’t already know it. Lots of fucking people.
Nobody wants to go through this.
Well, that's probably not true.
Jan 9 5:39am
The
I just asked Mr. Ages if he was a dog or if, for authenticity, God would ask an Apocalyptic spy to eat so much shit?
4:16pm
I’ve been thinking that I don’t think I can write a confession. So I’ll just start by listing some regrets.
4:52pm
Just thinking about regrets. Why did I think that would do me any good?
Jan 6 9:01am
I'm wearing out my pictures.
I'm guessing it’s a combination of climate and dirty hands, but they're really beat up.
I'm afraid of losing the faces and the moments.
Is there anyone left to remember?
I feel as if their images keep them around somehow. That they're really just someplace else right now, but if the pictures are gone—it's like they are erased and yet I can't help looking.
Who else will remember their faces?
And I need to remember...
I don't want to think of anybody as winking out like the woman that was eaten by Neighborhood Watch back in Rhinelander.
I dream of dying like she did—not how I've seen anyone else die. It's always like her.
I can hardly remember what her face looked like when it wasn't screaming. I didn't see it that way many times.
There was the first time, when I realized there was someone at that house. She'd thrown out a mixing bowl of what I assumed to be piss.
She reminded me of Joan's sister in Romancing the Stone . The hair and build and now outdated clothes were right.
But I can hardly remember her face.
Jan 7 4:13pm
I wanted to find a library, but thank God I won't have to take any chances in a town, not for a book—because I found the book I needed here.
A book about climate and stuff in the US.
I have thought Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, maybe Kansas would suit me.
I guess when I find the place I'll know.
I'm deep in the stomach of winter. I'll get a chance to see the climate I fear the most.
It does slow them down, the winter. The cold.
It slows us all down.
Jan 8 9:40am
Am staying another day here. A winter storm came up last night—howling and blowing snow. To be out in it would be suicide.
The wind-chill must be merciless.
I have to kind of laugh at that when I think of winters in Rhinelander—which were better than the winters I knew in northern Michigan, where I lived until I was seventeen.
The wind is making Mr. Ages make the weirdest sounds. The last blast made the whole building rattle and groan.
Mr. Ages made a sound like "Row" or "Whoa".
His mouth looks short and puffy. I don't understand where all the mouth goes when dogs to that. Like how the bones in their face appear to be able to slide into their skulls when they bare their teeth.
I said, "Oh?" back at him and he kinda rolled his head at me while cocking it.
A series of almost verbal sounds followed. He looked like he was pleading his case.
I'm trying to be in a relaxed state of mind because every sound sounds like something and I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight.
I suppose it’s just as well, because I haven't been sleeping that good anyhow.
It's always too cold, even with a sleeping bag. And my arms and shoulder aren't healing right. They are definitely infected.
I took three aspirin and was able to put medicine on them. There was about 1/2 a tube of Polysporin in the medicine cabinet, in addition to a lot of things I had no use for—dentures, estrogen, hot oil, those nasty floss sticks and several prescriptions that I didn't understand.
But I did understand one of them.
Valium.
I stared at it for probably a minute and a half.
I didn't mean to, but when I closed the cabinet I did it hard enough that the sound startled me and everything fell over inside.
All those pills represented to me the Out of a quitter.
Who the fuck could waste their life so ungratefully when so many people didn't have any fucking choice what their last hour would be???
Lots of people. If you don’t already know it. Lots of fucking people.
Nobody wants to go through this.
Well, that's probably not true.
Jan 9 5:39am
The
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