Journal

This journal is for me first, so I want to record something here as a reminder for the times I’ll come back and read it. But since it’s up for the whole world to see, (as if I have a gazillion hits), I have to be a bit reserved. I’m not trying to be enigmatic, I’m only saying that I don’t feel it’s appropriate for me to be as candid as usual.

Suffice it to say, concern one was warranted. Doesn’t change the fact that I was amused by the whole thing. In fact, even the word "amused" is a bit reserved. Laughed my ass off is a lot closer. I’m not sure if I was laughing at him or me. A little of both I guess. It was easier than crying.

Still, there’s dinner plans for Monday night, although I doubt I’ll see him for a long while, if ever. I guess that’s concern 1.5 because it’s closely related to concern 1. If I see him again, we’ll see if we hit concerns two and three. Or they won't matter any more.

In any event, I’ll remember this evening for years to come. And not for the reason you may think. I said "No" to sex when he offered it.

And I don’t mean suicide. I believe his self-destruction was far worse than that. He needed to live in order to punish himself further with each and every breath. A fate worse than death -- lifetime self-damnation.

A crying shame that. And I am crying. L Silly isn’t it? Over a 48-hour stand.

But what we shared was wonderful. I lived a lifetime between last-call on Friday, and last-call on Sunday. I could see deep into his soul. See and feel the beauty within him that he wouldn’t let himself see.

He saw deep inside me too. I asked him the "What do you see in me?" question last night, about an hour before we parted. I was completely shredded by the depth, breadth, clarity and accuracy of his answer. And I knew then the he would not ask me the same question in return. He didn’t have to. For he had already seen my answer.

And, I knew exactly where he was headed. I knew I couldn’t stop him. I knew I had to let him go. And so, I delivered him to his self-destruction.

We held hands in the car as we each tried not to think about what was going to happen, what was already in motion, what we were powerless to stop. And we tried not to think about what we were losing.

We arrived at the scene of the crime yet to be committed. The crime of beauty extinguished. He stepped out of the car into the stark orange light of the parking lot, and briefly reconnoitered his objective. Leaning back into the car across the seat, he told me "See ya, babe" and gave me the most loving kiss I’ve ever had.

Withdrawing, he shut the door, turned and walked away. I dropped the car into gear and sped off into the night, never once looking into the mirror.

I’ll remember our parting kiss until the day I die. A day which until yesterday seemed too near, and which today seems too far away.

I asked Kim, our admin, if I could impose on her for a few minutes. She’s a psych major in college, and I knew she could help. I had her read Monday’s entries first. She would read a paragraph or two, then look at me, then read some more.

As those last few paragraphs scrolled onto her screen, I lost it. I wept uncontrollably in her cubie. She was concerned, and wanted to know what had happened. I couldn’t speak between the sobs. I referred her to last weekend’s entries, so I could buy some time.

By the time she was done, I was ready. I shared everything with her. I’ll share with you what I can.

I’ve got to start a long, long time ago. You see, there’s something in my family tree you can think of as either a gift, or a curse. It’s not talked about much, like most family secrets. I have confirmation on only one other relative, my mother’s father’s sister. My Great-Aunt Belle. There are others in the family who I suspect have the gift to varying degrees. It’s gone by many names, spiritualist, mystic, ESP, telepathy, psychic.

I have it. In me, it comes and goes. I can’t control it. In the past, I’ve resisted it, tried to put it out of my life. It’s part of the reason I drugged. To turn it off, filter out what was coming through. But lately I am coming to terms with it. It’s a part of me, just like being gay is part of me.

Now, I don’t have the right words for any of this. You can’t take the words by their definition according to Webster’s. For example, when I use the word "see" it’s not like eyesight at all, but I don’t have a better word. Additionally, I don’t have all the buzzwords either, but I’ll do my best to describe things for you.

With varying degrees of strength and accuracy, I can see inside certain people. Not everyone, maybe one in 500 or so. I can’t see specific thoughts, or touch specific memories. But I can see the soul. Most of the time, not too clearly, but it’s there. Call it insight.

I also have precognition, or foresight. I get flashes, that sometimes are like visual sight, although most of the time not. I can’t tell if what I see is genuine foresight or not, until I recognize it when the event occurs in real life.

Only once or twice in my life, I’ve experienced remote viewing. It’s like true vision. I see what’s happening just as if I were standing there. More often though, I just get knowledge of something as it happens.

I’m getting better at teasing out what’s real, and what’s just a trick of the mind. I don’t always get it right.

So, where does this fit in with recent events? Well, with Johnny, on Friday and Saturday nights, I know exactly when he parks his car. I know exactly where he is in the room. I feel him. I can see inside him too. Not much detail, and it’s kinda fuzzy, but I see him.

Now obviously, my initial feelings were a little bit off. What I saw first was only part of him. But I also knew from that first instant that with him, I had the most solid connection with someone ever in my life. And it grew stronger despite my consumption of Dewar’s. That only effected the accuracy of what I felt and saw in him.

When we got back to my apartment, I was dead wrong on one thing, and it colored his thoughts, both of me, and of himself. And that’s when I knew the connection was two-way. My first experience with that. And I didn’t know how to handle it.

I’m not sure when it was that he first realized we had a two-way connection. But we both knew the other knew while we were in the park on Saturday. Although we had wonderful conversations, that wasn’t how we bared our souls to each other. He let me see, touch and feel his very being. Call it spirit, inner being, soul, life-force or whatever. He let me hold the beauty that was inside. I let him to the same.

In retrospect, by him doing that, I should have realized that he’s much better at this than I. And I should have realized that I couldn’t keep anything from him. And although I knew I could trust him, part of me was still in the outer world, and that’s where my concerns came from.

I guess I ignored what I felt inside him, and reverted to pedestrian thinking. He knew of my concerns. And he felt crushed by them. He had opened himself to me, and I while I hadn’t rejected his gift to me, I hadn’t accepted it either. I think that’s why he self-destructed. There were other issues as well, but that’s what turned the corner.

I had become judgmental based on the stories of his past. I couldn’t look further than that, and trust myself that I was seeing the right things inside. Yet I don’t feel guilt. I what road he was on and that I don’t have the skill-set to do anything but slow him down a bit.

What I feel is sadness. Sadness for him, sadness for me, sadness for us.

1. Wait for Danger-Boy to contact me.
2. Attempt to contact Danger-Boy.
3. Put him in my past and move on.

I was able to get an emergency meeting with my psychologist Caroll this afternoon. At 2½ hours, it was the longest single session we’ve had in my six years of seeing her. (Although I offered it, she declined 2½ times payment. J )

I’m able to tell people the parts of the story I can’t put on the ‘net. And I have differing levels of comfort in telling the story in person, so each person I’ve spoken with has gotten a slightly different version. The version here is the most sanitized. You’ll just have to accept that. You’ll never have the whole picture. I doubt anyone (including me) ever will, so you’re in good company.

In between the crying I was able to tell Caroll most of the story. I told her what I knew of Danger-Boy, both what he told me and what I learned through our connection. I seldom ask her for specific advice, preferring general direction. I made an exception today.

Caroll advised that I take option three, and put Danger-Boy in my past. This is primarily due to his past and chosen method of self-destruction. I argued that I KNOW I can trust him completely and that he will never intentionally hurt me.

She countered by saying that basically, he’s damaged goods, is incredibly needy in his relationships, yet unable to trust, and would hurt me because he already has.

I agree with Caroll on each of the first three points. 1) He’s not perfection personified. 2) I sense the deep hurt within him, hurt that won’t heal without great deal of nurture. 3) He is unable to trust because of the way he’s been hurt in the past.

Caroll and I agree that whatever form any interaction between Danger-Boy and I would take, my trust in him will always be subjected to repeated tests. I failed one test Sunday night, but I feel I was maneuvered into it, for I had passed the same test earlier in the evening.

On her fourth point, I disagree. He hasn’t hurt me. I don’t feel hurt, and as I’ve had more time to think things over, if anyone did any hurting, it was me, twice. It was accidental. The first time, shortly after we arrived at my apartment that first night, when I misinterpreted something he said. And again on Sunday night just before he self-destructed when I couldn’t trust the accuracy of what I’d seen in him to get past conventional thinking, and my trust in him wavered.

I don’t feel responsible for his reactions, nor do I feel guilt for what were honest human errors. I never claimed to be any good at this. I do, however, feel sorry for having made the mistakes. And I want to find him to make my apologies so I can set things right for myself.

I called Vince from the car on the way home from Caroll’s. I told him I needed him, and Vince, being Vince, dropped everything to come to my aid. He’d read most of the weekend’s postings already and I asked him to read the newest journal postings (second Sunday entry, Monday and Tuesday) before coming over.

With Vince, I was able to share the most of the story. The only parts I kept from him were those that I feel are too personal to share with anyone. Even I have limits when it comes to sharing. J

He spent almost three hours here listening to me ramble. I didn’t ask him for any advice, and like me, he won’t give it unless asked. This time though, he offered it. He feels I should find Danger-Boy, if only to make my apologies. He didn’t know I’d already made that decision.

I think I’ll wait a day or two for my body to stop revolting against me before I start my search. The physical stress reaction is very strong in me and several vital systems have gone temporarily off-line. Although I’m mentally prepared for it, I don’t think the old bod could take it without a day or two of rest. I have to give it that, for I open myself up to the risk of rejection. Should that happen, I’m not sure it could handle a double-dose of the physical stress reaction. Should I find him and am not rejected, I’m sure there’s quite a bit of stress that will be associated with that.

So I have to wait a bit. And the wait is driving me nuts. At least my meds help a bit.

In any event, I’m through most of the crying now, or else the tears have all dried out. I haven’t cried that much in my entire life put together. Which leads to the question, why am I crying, and for whom?

Mostly, I cry for Danger-Boy. That he won’t let himself see inside him what he let me see. And I cry for his self-inflicted punishment. Tears of sorrow.

And I cry for me. That I wasn’t able to stop him. I don’t think anyone could have. But even though I feel no guilt, there are always the "If onlys". Tears of sorrow.

And I cry for us. For what I think could have become the greatest friendship. Tears of sorrow, and of anticipation.

Finally, I cry for the 48 hours we spent. These are tears of joy.

So what is it that I want? Ultimately, I want him in my life as a friend. I can’t explain why, I don’t have the words. What I’ll settle for is to apologize for violating my own trust in him.

I got voice-mail when I called in. I told them if they really need, I can come in, but they wouldn’t get 100%. Of course by staying home, they get 0%, but at least it doesn’t cost them anything. I don’t work, they don’t get billed, I don’t get paid. But call it responsibility, work ethic, or whatever, I can’t just take their money and not be able to perform. So the paycheck for this week will be a couple of bucks lighter.

On the other hand, I’ve had some incredibly unusual experiences these past few days. I need time.

As I told each person yesterday, it was very much like watching someone commit suicide. I saw the difference inside him from Saturday to Sunday. And Sunday night, as we sat on my couch, I watched as what was within him flickered and died.

Right after I called in to work this morning, the phone lines quit. Both of them. I unplugged everything and tested the jacks with my tester. The circuit had voltage, but nothing else, no dial tone. I plugged everything back in, picked up the cell phone and reported the trouble. Then I wrote the entry above.

When I was ready to post it, I checked, and both lines were up again. Never occurred to me to report that. I figured they had reset something from the office, and I went about my merry way.

Those phone guys must see it all so I don’t quite understand the look on his face after I unplugged the headset and handed him the phone to verify everything was okay. I mean, here I am, obviously just woke up, in this tiny (albeit tastefully decorated) apartment, with thousands of dollars of watercolors on the walls, a few sculptures kicking around, hundreds of CDs and books on the shelves, and the sheets, blanket and pillows are on the floor.

Yeah that’s right, I’ve slept on the floor for the past couple of nights. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. It just seemed like the thing to do. I don’t understand it either.

Anyway, the phone guy just keeps looking back and forth between the bedding on the floor and the couch. I could just see him thinking, "Man, that thing’s gotta fold out." Just about then he spotted my gallery on the fridge. After he left. I’m sure he was shaking his head and thinking, "Another nutcase faggot." J

A little while later, the phone rings. Call-ID says it’s the lobby door. Danger-Boy? Nope, the FedEx guy bearing disks from CDnow.

Of course, the one problem with ordering a bunch of CDs all at the same time, is that they come in all at the same time, and you don’t know where to start! Of the 14 disks I ordered on Saturday, nine came in today, and I got the shipping notification for the 10^th. The imports generally follow in a couple of weeks. Must be they come by ocean freighter instead of FedEx.

I started going through the disks and updating reviews, and I realized I just wasn’t in the mood for it. I’ll finish up and post them later in the week. So I went back to bed, er, the floor. Couldn’t get to sleep. Couldn’t get comfortable. (Go figure!) Threw everything up onto the couch and lay down. I must have slept at some point, but I did a lot of thinking.

Well, a little light warm-up here at the keyboard, and now it’s time to get down to business. I’m still thinking about whether to write about certain parts of the weekend or not. We’ll just have to see if it comes out of my fingers.

There’s a difference between feeling hurt and feeling pain. I don’t think I have the words to cover hurt, so for now let’s just say it’s something other than pain.

Pain is something you can feel for yourself, or for others. I feel the pain of loss and sorrow. I also feel pain for what Danger-Boy did to himself. But I still don’t feel hurt by him. He was too busy hurting himself.

Maybe the difference between hurt and pain is that hurt is pain delivered in a boxed set with anger. Whenever I feel hurt by someone, I’m angry with them for causing me pain. I’m not angry with Danger-Boy. Has he caused me pain? Certainly. Had we not met on Friday I’d be happily fixing computers right now instead of writing here.

So I guess it comes down to a question of intent. If you do something and it causes someone pain, that’s one thing. If you use anger to cause pain, or pain caused by you creates anger in someone, that’s quite another.

But am I rationalizing? Now I’m a pretty bright guy. I can rationalize myself into or out of just about anything. I smoke so that I don’t cough up lung parts. See? So I’ve been questioning myself.

What are my feelings towards him? The other day I wrote that I didn’t feel love or infatuation for him, that I felt more like kindred spirits. Then this morning I wrote that I hoped he felt my love for him. So how do I feel?

What are the things I like about him? Well for starters, he’s gorgeous. The sex, well we were drunk each time, and each a little shy, but it was all right. It’ll be better when we’re not toasted and we’re more comfortable with each other.

He’s kind, caring, affectionate and generous. I saw all that in his actions Saturday. He’s intelligent and articulate, has a great sense of humor and a wonderful joie de vivre. And I believe he’s the most honest man I’ve ever met.  Certainly the most honrable and noble.

So what’s not to like? He’s too hard on himself, he’s got a bit of a temper, (so do I). And he’s still drugging. That makes him dangerous for me to be around. I’m not sure I can resist the temptation for very long.

One of the problems here is the word "love" means too many things. So I have to work hard to characterize it without rationalizing.

We drove out along the lake to watch the sunset. We talked about everything. He feels ashamed and guilty over Sunday night, plus the fact that he couldn’t call from where he was the past three days. When the man makes a commitment, the man makes a commitment, and when he can't follow through on it, it kills him. All is forgiven.

Since I dropped him off on Sunday night/Monday morning, I thought he was in jail. He knew his life was out of control and that he is unable to regain that control without help. He didn’t think he could make it until his appointment to enter rehab next Tuesday. He had said he was going to rob a store so he could go to jail and be safe. That’s where I dropped him off.

He glossed over the details in the rush to discuss everything else, and to get the most out of his last week of freedom, so I don’t have the whole picture. But he didn’t rob the store, and somehow or another, he checked into a hospital for detox. Detox from cocaine must be pretty quick because he spent less than 72 hours there. Perhaps they let him out because he already had plans to enter a program next week, and he needed to get the details of his life in order before then. It makes me feel good that I’m one of the details he said he had to get in order. J

I have committed myself to him to do whatever he needs me to do to make sure he gets through the weekend and to his appointment on Tuesday. He’s checking in at Park-Ridge Chemical Dependency for their four-week program, before going to Freedom House, a local rehab halfway-house for a six month stay. Both programs are the best in town. You may recall I did my CD work at Park-Ridge.

He says he can have visitors.  Last I knew, at Park-Ridge it was blood relatives only, but the policy may have changed.  It is after all the 90s.  But Freedom House you can.  And I know that after a while, you can go out to the movies or something after they check out your date to be sure you'll be safe with them. 

He’s doing what he needs to do, and I’m behind him 100%. I’ve given him a set of keys to my apartment so he has someplace to go, other than jail, when he needs to be safe.  But I'm not going to babysit him. He has no money for food or anything until he enters rehab. I stopped by the ATM and got some cash for him. He promised me it wouldn't go up his nose, and I beleive him.

And oh, by the way, we discussed his psychic abilities. He ran down quite a laundry list. And he says I have a very old soul. It figures.

I had planned all month to go to Bingo tonight. AIDS-Rochester does Gay Bingo every third Wednesday right around the corner from me at The School of the Arts. I called Vince earlier to say I wouldn’t be going, and asked if he could stop by briefly after. Of course, I wasn’t home. He went home and sent me this e-mail:

Date: Wed, 20 May 1998 22:34:48 EDT

To:

Subject: I am very happy too!

I did come by after Bingo, but the lights were out. I hope they were out for the reason I think. Reading all the journal entries for Tuesday and Wednesday really made me feel for you. You are now having the feelings and emotions I have all my life. They can be so wonderful, yet they can rip you apart. Reading that he called, made me cry. Tears of joy, that maybe the sorrow I saw in your face on Tuesday was now gone. Hopefully things are better now for both of you. Happiness always to you Bruce. I won't say be good, but enjoy it. Take care my special friend and know I will always be there if you need me.

Ain’t he sweet? And guys, he’s single!

I’ve got a good sense of where he’s at, and I wanted him to have a good sense of where I’m at. In my reply to an e-mail from Chris tonight, I said, "My life has changed so much in the last six days.  More than in the last six months.   And that was more than in the last six years!" And that’s what I shared with Danger-Boy. I told him all about my checkered past, where I am now, and where I want to go with my life, at least as I see it now.

And dammit Chris, you bring out the best in me! I danced around the subject with Danger-Boy, but I put it together in my reply to Chris:

I *NEED* that man in my life.  Not as a lover, because I know that wouldn't work out.  We're both "alpha males" in our pack.  There can only be one, and although it would be nice, it's a role that can't be shared.  So I can only hope to give him what he needs, and that he can give me what I need.

Perhaps what we need to give each other is this:  I now know what giving unconditional love is.  I've needed that lesson.  And I think the lesson he needs to learn is, how to accept unconditional love.

I made two commitments to him tonight. First, when he enters rehab, I’m giving up smoking again. And I’m frightened of that on several levels. First and foremost, I fear for my writing. Giving up smoking was the end of my career writing software. It just didn’t happen any more. I’d sit at the keyboard for hours without being able to write a single line of code. This journal means so much to me. I’m really afraid for what might happen to me without it.

Secondly, I vividly remember the sheer agony and terror of withdrawal. I swore I’d never do that to myself again. And I relapsed, so I have to do it to myself again. Remember what I’ve said about having to repeat lessons you haven’t learned? At least this time, I know what I’m in for. And it’s far from pleasant. But I’ve begun putting my support network together, so that when I need, and I can’t get to Danger-Boy for support, there will be someone to help me.

The second commitment I made to him, comes with a little background. Drugging gives you unconditional acceptance by every other druggie. Instant friends, any time, anywhere. Rehab gives you the opportunity to get those people out of your life, for if you don’t, you’ll most certainly relapse. He told me Wednesday night that he has to leave this town soon after he gets out of rehab for just that reason. That’ll be right around the first of the year.

We have a mutual love of the desert southwest. And so, my second commitment to him was to move with him there after he gets out. He thinks his employment prospects are better in New Mexico. Mine are better in Arizona and Nevada. We’ll work something out though. I have every confidence of that. We each have portable and marketable skills, so it should be little difficulty to find a compromise.

There are two reasons I took my current position with Tek Systems. First is that they’re a nationwide contract house. They even offer some relocation benefits. So I called them today, and basically said this:

My contract at Citibank ends June 30^th. It looks like they’ll still need me after that, so I’m willing to sign another contract through to Dec 31^st. Then I want to move to either Albuquerque, Santa Fe, Phoenix, or Las Vegas, and I’d like a job waiting for me when I get there February 1^st.

Second, I’ve interviewed at Tek Systems in Las Vegas. Dan there calls me every so often to see if I’m ready to relocate. And conveniently, Citibank has a huge facility there too. (If you send your payments to The Lakes, NV, it’s a suburb of Las Vegas.) So, I’m essentially a shoo-in there. There’s tons of technology in Phoenix too. I don’t know enough about Albuquerque and Santa Fe. I’ve got time for some research.

In any event, it’s Danger-Boy’s last weekend before he goes into treatment. (God I hate that word, isn’t there anything better?) He’s looking forward to it, and I’m glad. But on the other hand, he’s gonna have his last hurrah too. It’s expected.

And, I’ve gotta share him with Debbie. Remarkably, I’m cool with that. I’ve never asked anyone to understand me, just accept me. I don’t understand his, or anyone’s, attraction to women, but I accept it.

I’ll get to see him again tomorrow, (maybe), and all day Sunday. I’m gonna have to make it memorable! J J The first six-weeks of the program is no contact with the outside world. Just letters. No phone calls, no visits, nothing else. Well, I’m kinda getting the hang of this writing thing. I hope I can keep it up without nicotine.

And of course, I’ll have to do with without MS-Word. Somehow I don’t think processed words spat out of my LaserJet would carry quite the same weight. I haven’t handwritten a letter since my teens! Coincedentally, those letters were to a guy I was in love with, also named Danger-Boy. Life’s strange, isn’t it?

I’m glad he’s got plans for Saturday though. That’s Willie’s graduation day. We had a nice long talk tonight too after I dropped Danger-Boy off. You know, we get closer all the time too. I’m beginning to think I have an infinite capacity for love. Maybe that’s not so amazing when you consider parents do it all the time. I’m just getting around to it a little late in life.

Apparently, they never went through the trouble of obtaining a city permit for the patio. So the patio is closed, pending zoning approval next month. Like THAT will happen! Then, the Fire Marshall got into the act. In New York State, there’s only one entity, other than the IRS or the state Sales Tax office that can shut down an establishment instantly without a hearing. And that’s the Fire Marshall.

They compute the maximum capacity of every public gathering place, from the convention center to stores, restaurants and bars, based upon the size of the place, the construction, number of fire exits and physical obstructions within the building.

They’ve come down hard on Muther’s because the maximum legal capacity of the place, including employees, is 94. This fills the parking lot by only 1/3. Waiting line outside, one out, one in.

In any event, he had promised Debbie that he’d be home around 12:30, and he was. I’m not particularly interested in going back out, because I have to get up early to make it to Willie’s graduation which starts at 8:30 tomorrow, or rather this, morning.

So, I’ve gotta keep this short so I can hit the hay. It’s been a wonderfully surreal evening, and I can’t wait to write about it. I should have time later today.

You know, that man is exactly what I need in my life right now. I’ve become stagnant and have been feeling old. He keeps me mixed up, and although he’s told me I have and "old soul", he’s also reminded that 40, (41 next month,) isn’t old at all.

I’ll tell you, this is either the world’s greatest hustle, or the beginning of world’s greatest friendship. Everyone I know, (except Vince) tells me it’s the former. Naturally, I think it’s the latter.

Either way, I’m having the time of my life!

Night, night.

He called to read me some of his poetry, and share some thoughts which are too intense for him to share with me face-to-face. And he wanted to thank me for being there. How sweet. I’ve never had anyone call me in the middle to the night to read me poetry. Amazing man.

Earlier, in a quiet corner of the Forum, he started fleshing out the details of his life. I see the pain within him, and he’s started revealing the sources. No man should go through what he has. That’s a different story, for a different time.

I missed Willie’s graduation this morning. It was at 8:30, he called and woke me up at 12:30. Although he’s forgiven me, I don’t think I can forgive myself.

Memorial Day weekend. Beautiful weather, families enjoying cookouts, love and togetherness. I’ve spent my afternoon and early evening keeping Danger-Boy alive.

If it is and I can, he will live long enough to enter rehab. If it’s not, or I can’t, I’ll have to write his obituary a second time. I can’t see the light in him any more. And I know if he takes his life it’s not my responsibility. But that won’t keep me from feeling that I’ve failed him, failed me, and failed this world.

What is inside that man deserves to be shared with the global population. Well, naturally my opinion is skewed a bit. But what he has, and can give when he gets well is, to use and overused word, awesome.  There's a second word too, inspiring.

He is far and away the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, or could hope to know. He should not be wasted.

Anyhow, sometime around 4:00, I think, he called. I think I got the phone on the second or third ring, which is amazing considering the combined sedation of the Dewar’s and the meds. On the other hand, the corded phone, the cordless phone and the base unit for the cordless all ring loud enough to wake the dead, so I guess it’s not quite so amazing after all.

Now get this, he asks if he can come over here and crash! The man has his own set of keys to the apartment, has my car and my cell phone. And he’s calling to ask if he can crash here? I’m stupefied, (and it wasn’t the sedation.) Of course he can crash here!

We tried to have a conversation after he got here, but I kept drifting off. Finally he figured it was too much like work and let me sleep. By the way, we now have an eyewitness report. I thrash about for the first couple of hours, then become completely inert.

He stayed up thinking and listening to the CDs we bought yesterday, smoking cigarettes, writing a bit, and watching me sleep. A couple of hours ago, he started talking to me. He says I was even saying things like "Ummph." I guess the vocabulary disappears with the consciousness. J Eventually I woke up. He was sitting on the credenza watching me. Nice first sight in the morning. J J

I’m not sure what the plan is for today. Well the plan is to get him though ‘til he goes to rehab on Tuesday. It’s the daily tactics we still have to work out. Maybe we’ll go trade-in all those CDs I set aside last weekend. The beach might be nice too.

Before we went out last night, we confessed our deepest, darkest secrets to each other. I think he was testing my trust. In any event, I think I’ve run out of things I’ve never told anyone. It’s funny how once you start that kind of thing you can’t stop. He liked the term I use for those times my personal demons keep me awake. My visitations.

He’d been doing most of the talking yesterday, I would reply if it was in order. Anyway, before we went out I asked for five minutes to do some talking of my own. I read him the "Lessons" thing, five selected paragraphs that dealt with lessons from the past week’s entries, and the "obituary" piece I wrote Monday night. He thought it was deep. But then again, how many people have their obit read to them?