2004-05-22-2:30 a.m.
Wild Turkey, you are a dear friend. You speak yet not. Listen without ears. You nod your head without motions. Very talented, Mr Turkey, to do all these things. To pat my back without arms, crying with me when you have no eyes. And when you are empty, you take your leave without feet. God's Speed, for you are a saint among whiskey.

My depression has eased back into me. Not sure how. Maybe it was the suttle verbal jabs of my friends. 100s of pokes and then your building falls down. And then it's not about the jabs anymore. Who cares if they insult you? Now it's just pointless saddness, not caring. A gloom is your aura and if someone remarks that you look sad, then you have no explanation for why. I have no imediatate joy right now. I'm excited that Susan might visit in July or who knows when.

Someone left a note on my car: "Ben, Haven't seen you at Ragtime lately. I miss you. I'm watching you. XXXOOOs"

I guess that was Vanessa. Not that it matters. I left a message on her machine and no call back. Whatever. And I had this crazy idea that the prepay plan would automatically pay for summer classes but no. So now I have to get a form signed to get reinstated while I"m disconnected from blackboard. I can't get to the stories I need to review. I ask Ari but he was like "oh, I don't have time to do this, ask a class mate."

It's so damn easy to place a file in a attachment and send it to me. That's all I want!!!! Nothing else. HIm and his damn principles. Now I'll have to look stupid in workshop because didn't read over the stories and won't have a copy to even follow the readings.

All we have is hope. It's the reasoning to keep going. Sometimes my eyes hurt so much and my mind drys up. My saddness for no reason, but I move on. But something is broken inside me. Broken, broken... your pointless saddness consumes you when you lie and say, "no one loves me."

Oh, people love you. If you were to die, guess how many people would fall apart? Even one person is too much! All those problems above, don't really matter. Nothing exactly matters. Why do we feed on saddness. I don't know.

Why leave a note on my car when you can't say to my face that you miss me? Is this really friendship? I kiss the wounds of the dead, I pour water on your soul and then I walk on. I walk on. Live, humanity, live. Because I know your pain, because it is my pain. I hug the mourners, I pat the walking-empty people.

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