Not a lot to report today. I've been giving a lot of thought to the method by which I will eventually commit suicide, probably in a few years. I like the idea of taking dozens of lorazepam and walking into the ocean, getting sleepier as I swim, and finally drowning in a groggy haze. Massachusetts has some beautiful beaches for that sort of thing. And teenagers may tell ghost stories, by the light of a bonfire, about me. I'm not suicidal now, but I think about how I will eventually do it. It's just who I am.
I've been going through many papers in anticipation of the upcoming move on March 1, just trying to get organized. Something I found made me think of Sandra Atkins, a young lady I once cared very much about. If you Google her name, you get her Master's Thesis, entitled, The Formation of the League of the Haudenosaunne (Iroquois): Interpreting the Archaeological record through the oral Narrative Gayanashagowa.” We were very close friends when she wrote that. I'm not sure where you are, Sandra Atkins, but I'd like to hear how you're doing. Write me. She went to Trent University up in Ontario, Canada. Oh, well.
And that's just a bit of it. As I go through my papers I find love letters and poems and kind words from people who are now gone from my life. Should I throw them away, or put them in a nice piece of luggage and take them with me? Does it matter? I don't know, but I find it painful.
I haven't posted of late because I'm been ill, sort of a stomach flu thing going on. I hope to write something of greater consequence later in the evening, or tomorrow.
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