Where I Want To Be.

At times he talks about death, how it makes us repent, and how surely there are miserable people in the world, about exhausting work, and about saying goodbye and how it tears your heart.

But the marvellous thing is that you get on with it. This whole process, this thing that I haven't gone through for four years, it at times fills me with terror and self-doubt. The rain falls torrentially onto the ambivilent asphalt of the parking lot, but the blue sky above will not be dissuaded. This is not quite so tangential. I only stopped yesterday because of the alarm clock pointing to one entire month! My life is an island upon which time is irrelevant, nonsensical. I am a character in a Kurt Vonnegut novel. But this one entire month; this, for me, is something to marvel at.

And so I saw myself going more and more to pieces -- something was done about it. Can I exclaim this loudly enough? There was action! And much prodding and pushing, to be sure, but the point is that we can come out of any situation -- however painful -- and rise; rise. This gift of the Russians: forward. What is the point of all of this nonsense? A simple telegram to my friends, allow me to decode from Morse. That this going to pieces has been overcome fills me with an awareness that prevents the probability of going through this [forgetting] again. I am not always an open book; don't mistake this for being obtuse.