Ten thirty five. I ran into Mike at the market. It went okay. He told me about the neighbors he’d had problems with. As far as music, he is open to me looking elsewhere for opportunities to jam. The store was quite busy this morning. People were courteous to each other and it was a good feeling. It makes me miss the days when I used to work. I was around people a lot more and it was fun, especially the first two years. I passed up the Coke and bought cranberry ginger ale. Looking forward to getting my book of Bishop’s poetry. Aesop’s bones are coming tomorrow. As for church, it’s a part of the community, but the ideas are one size fits all. It’s good that I learned how it works. The obstacle I couldn’t get over was prayer. Ontologically there’s no way it can happen. Like telekinesis, we may wish it were real, but try to move a pencil with your mind: it doesn’t work. So I’ve been keeping my distance from church except for volunteering.
Noon hour. I had a good day yesterday. Usually my day starts out good, and then goes downhill towards afternoon. Maybe I expect too much of myself. I never sleep well anymore. Neither did my mother at this age. The solitude kind of gets me down day after day. Still I feel good about my sobriety. I’d still be drinking if the psychosis weren’t under control.
One twenty. I called Damien: he’s coming out this evening to mow. He sounds a little low because his stepdad has cancer. This afternoon I might take a nap. I should plan a trip to Bi Mart this week. Something to do in the afternoon. I always enjoy seeing Shawn and all the others who have worked at the store for eons. Going in there reminds me of Kate and old times in general.
Two thirty. I wonder if buying a car would tempt me to drink again?… Don’t know if I want to live in the fast lane once more. Too much anxiety. Driving makes me think of money and of how I used to work. These in turn remind me of alcohol… The prospect makes me nervous, so I think I’ll steer clear of it for a while. People drive or choose not to for various reasons.
Five thirty. Pastor called me. We’re recording the service tomorrow at six thirty. He said if I could do that then don’t worry about Saturday. Said he really appreciates my help. Of course.
Six twenty. I don’t feel so great right now, but I’ll pull through. I’m a bit stressed. I haven’t tried to sing in a long time. It would have been nice if Lisa could help us out. But I told myself that I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ll have to think about something else.
Ten twenty five. So I went to sleep and dreamed about the service tomorrow evening. At one point I was driving a car north up River Road, past my turnoff, and trying to find a place to get turned around. The traffic was so bad that I couldn’t do it. And in reality, it happened that way whenever I went to get my hair cut with Virginia. To make a left turn and go home, I had to cross three lanes of breakneck traffic, which was usually impossible. Therefore I made a right turn and went with the traffic up a few intersections and turned around in the parking lot of the Mormon church. I wasn’t a bad driver, just safe and defensive. I haven’t been north of the Beltline since I stopped driving a car. Besides, it’s mostly a redneck place in Santa Clara. The reading material up there consists of Louis L’Amour and Danielle Steele. Never heard of poetry, but Norman Rockwell is the rage in art. For the ultimate in entertainment they go to the rodeo on Highway 99…
Ten thirty. Had a weird dream about C—, about the fire, and about car accidents. I persuaded her that fate could be evaded by taking the pastrami Eucharist. And a broken Milk Bone explained the refrigerator fire. Basically it made fun of magic rites. Or maybe was more sympathetic than to be mocking, for C— really believes in such rituals. I had foreseen her death in a car crash and wanted to save her. Sort of like what happens in Donnie Darko, with the death of his girlfriend Gretchen.
But a Eucharist of pastrami and a Milk Bone is like a poor man’s offering, together with his dog. Take and eat, for this is my body, which is given for you in remembrance of me. Come, for all is ready…
In a way, the dream is very realistic, and it shows that I’m concerned about C— being drinking age at 21 years old. But what can a beggar offer besides a Eucharist of pastrami and a dog biscuit? Just the advice not to drive drunk.
Quarter of two o’clock. Dreamed that I was a cop. Ahead of me on Maxwell Road was a woman in an obnoxious copper Mustang, revving her engine and speeding. I prepared to stop her at the Prairie Road intersection, but she fled and resisted arrest. As I was getting ready to pursue her, I saw to my dismay that she had turned around to pursue me! My own cop car was stopped in a salvage yard, in fact not running. I held three keys in my left hand, only one of which started my motor. Meanwhile, with murder in her heart, she came vrooming towards me. I woke up before she could flatten me to a pancake.