Day Fifteen

Up early, but not really working. I'm bummed at my girl. She likes the fight, the feeling of separation...I don't.

I got some great work done yesterday, covered some teenage ground. It was fun writing about my first dealings with the police...

Mercy-mercy-mercy. Head please leave me alone.

Day Fourteen

A lazy day. Its 4:02 in the pm and I'm not dressed. Yes, I was up earlier, but after a few groggy half-hours I jumped back into bed. I need to start writing.

Day Thirteen

I dreamed of being in jail. I was in a mod with men, women, and children--my children. There was a group of men there that wanted me dead and they started a riot so they could get to me. There were guards everywhere, and we were backed down a hallway towards a dorm. Kate suddenly appeared by my side and put her hand on my arm. It was then that I heard "She's dead. It was the chick from the Phoenix house. Does anybody know her people?" I was up...

Stewart's service was yesterday. I sat quietly in the back with Kate, and I cried when they recited the 'Prayer of the Faithful.' I wish I would've went to the reception afterward but at the time I felt uncomfortable...now, I regret it.

"Many people die by violence, war, and famine each day. Show your mercy to those who suffer so unjustly these sins against your love, and gather them to the eternal kingdom of peace. We pray to the Lord….“Lord Hear our Prayer”

Day Twelve

Another 4am wake-up. Her bed was empty this morning, and yet, I felt a slight sense of relief that she slept out. I don't want her to feel trapped here. Suffocated is suffocated, whether by love or by hate.

There's a funeral today that I must attend, and I'm rolling in angry. I loved him, but I hated what he stood for. I hated those around him that profited from the same piracy, created the same fence around the swimming hole, and stood there as the elite.

Day Eleven

Got off my ass today and got some fresh air. A nice four mile walk along the wetlands with Kate. It felt good to breathe. Normally, I spend my days holed up in an office inhaling sandlewood incense and pounding coffee. I'm on a bit of a health-kick now, however, I'm not sure if 'health-kick' is the right phrase. I cut out the crap food, and the sugar (again) for three days so thats my 'health-kick,' probably just normal living, but maybe whatever depression I'm carrying may lift. Depression? Yeah I've suffered quite a few blows this year, and I'm a bit down, also, going through early childhood trauma in the process of writing doesnt exactly help either.

Day Ten

4:47 and I'm up. I felt overwhelmed yesterday. My one finger typing skills and abscence of grammer knowledge is kicking my ass. I spent ten hours on one page, three-hundred words, twenty lines. Ever see a grown man cry?

"The old Hebrews used to call their Angels “Those who stand still,” and the name they gave themselves was “those that walk.” If a demon was ever called anything, it was usually prefaced with a very terrified, “Oh my God!” "

Day Nine

Under the gun to get this finished. Time went so slow at the end of my last life, but in this one, the days are a playing-card clothes-pinned to a bike wheel--the spokes driving it forwards, the speed frightening. Too fast to stick a finger in and stop it.

I woke sobbing this morning. In my dream my littlest had been taken from me. I was at a bar in South America drinking cranberry juice off my friend Vern's tab. I pulled a picture of my daughter from my deceased fathers wallet. I showed it to two drunken old women. My daughters hands in focus as I cried...