I sit in the middle of my living room, trying to meditate. Or maybe I'm just fooling myself; I've been sitting here for more than an hour without achieving anything. Probably I should get up and turn on the heat, because it's starting to freeze in here, but I just keep staring at some irregularity on the wall-paper.
I wonder, does Jim sometimes feel like drifting off into a zone-out and never coming back?
It's not too grateful, I know. I'm quite lucky to be here, alive, and in this apartment I found thanks to an old friend of Naomi. But that's the point, isn't it? I'm educated, and healthy - physically, anyway. I shouldn't be so dependant on the goodwill of others, like Jim, like the Brothers who had welcomed me to stay as long as I needed to, like...
At the moment, my moods seem to change with the moon. Yesterday, I felt all energized, thinking about calling Jim and telling him I wanted to come home and start over again. Today, it's just a deep, dark and bottomless pit of doubts I slowly let myself drown in.
What if it doesn't work out, what if things never change? This is not how I've planned my life, I don't want to do odd jobs I get out of friends' courtesy for the rest of my life. And I'm so afraid that the only alternative on the horizon will turn out to burst like all the others. It wouldn't be such a catastrophe for Jim, because he could always go back to being a cop.
Just when did everything go so bad?
No, I'm not through with mourning the loss of all my visions and the security I thought I'd had. Truth is, there's not much I actually have at the moment, and days like this I deeply regret having disposed of the little box and its contents.
It would take too long to accumulate another stash, so there's nothing I can do at the moment but to stay here in this dark place and let those waves crash over me, over and over again.