About to go out with Em.  We’re going for a long walk.  We’ll get some coffee, and that sort of thing.  I am taking Maria to see the zombie play tonight as a thank you for helping me out last weekend.  She’s a good friend. 

Talked to Ace this afternoon.  He makes me feel a lot better about things.  (And, Al, you were a big help yesterday – thank you!)  If Ace had been angry with me, or had lost faith in me, I would’ve freaked out.  I guess I need to get it in my head that people who really care aren’t going to flake out on me for being sick.  Especially when they see that I am fighting, so hard.

"Matchbooks tell stories.  Like weather worn concrete…  the broken glass and gravel of alleyways we all avoid…

(unless we’re looking for trouble…)  surfaces speak in local tongues, wearing stories

we leave, like litter on sidewalks, and every other place where human feet fall.

The weary sit on sidewalks, awaiting buses.  Awaiting the repetition of yesterday,

(the expectation of repeating today, tomorrow

can comfort, or cut – depending on  the moment).

Someone at outpatient thought I was dead.  This couple hadn’t run into me or Charlie in forever, and someone was telling them about Krissy (the girl that OD’d a couple months ago), and she thought they were talking about me, so all this time, she thought I was dead, until she saw us walking out of the el stop yesterday.  Kind of horribly funny.  I think Krissy would’ve laughed.  Maybe, she did.

I found out today that someone I used to get high with was in jail recently.  He was a college student, from a family that wasn’t struggling financially (a trust fund kid, it seemed).  He got turned out by a sleezeball classmate who went around getting freshman from wealthy families strung out so they would need his connections to get high (and thusly pad his habit) – pretty evil sh*t.  This kid, who we’ll call D, was one of them.  I liked him.  I was trying to kick at the time (failing constantly).  But, I tried to help D.  I offered to help him get into a program.  But, he didn’t want one at that time – didn’t want any paperwork anywhere saying he was a dope fiend.  Well, he’s got paperwork, now.  Poor kid…  hope he’s okay.  He doesn’t belong in a place like County.  

"Piles of laundry tell a story. 

Squares of foil…  wrinkled remnants, in and around unemptied ash trays

(a sign that it hasn’t been too long)… 

a sleeping mind tells a story.

And, a touch tells everything, and nothing.  Nervous, shaking hands

tell a story.  And, I could certainly drown us both

in my sorrows.  Singing songs

of loss, of pain, and wounded youth.  But, for now,

as my own mind still opposes me, with raised fists,

and fleeting frames of years past,

I’d rather laugh with you, whenever time and circumstance allow. 

Because, we all die enough death before it’s over." 

(Obviously, these are excerpts from one of my own poems – just something I pounded out today.  Hope it isn’t lame.)

Running late…  gotta jet for now.  But, I am not giving up, or letting go.  Not yet… 

I’m just trying to keep it all small and manageable.  I’m just trying to trust that this road leads to the right things, even if nothing makes sense, right now.  I don’t have to see what’s coming, or know what it is, to know it’s got to be better than where I’ve been.

I never would’ve made it this far, this time, without the friends I have made here.  Thank you all.  And, specifically, I wanted to say thanks again, to Ace.  Man, you’re incredible.  I’d be lost without your help.  If I believe things are possible, again, it’s because you convinced me.