July 6, 2004

 
I wonder sometimes if anyone is reading. I wonder how I manage to keep sleeping on my ear wrong so that I wake up with it sore. It's 3:18 am and I wonder why I'm awake.

These are questions not easily answered. I'm rather profound this time of day, so watch out.

Stew owes me an essay. I told him that several days ago, that now that he was coming out of another crisis he needed to write it and send it to me. He hasn't done so yet, and when I mentioned it yesterday, that he still owes me an essay, he asked, "About what?"

Sigh.

I told him about what, and he said, "But I don't remember anything." That's one of the problems with documenting, isn't it? How's he supposed to tell about things he can't remember?

But I remember. And once again I want to say to him, in my most patronizing tone of course, "Gee, that must be so hard for you!" He'd look at me like I'm demented, as he should. Sometimes it's hard to know what to say, though I know him well enough to always forge ahead anyway. I know that's rare though -- it's not entirely common for people to be able to relate to what he's going through; it's outside their experience, they don't understand it.

It is a betrayal, and who wants to think of betrayal? His brain has betrayed him, and if we can't count on our own brain to tell us what's what, what can we rely on? It's the closest thing we have to us, and while it doesn't always tell us the truth, that's often to protect us, to hide things we'd be best not seeing. But for it to consistently lie like that?

He did well on the 4th. Called me once and left me a voicemail, where I was in a sea of other people, waiting for the fireworks, to ask me to tell him that people weren't out to get him. I called him back when my cell let me know I'd missed a call . . . my service was jumping in and out. And I reassured him. Told him that no one was after him, that when he and Honey were out walking and there was all that noise and people and fireworks they weren't after HIM, or even her, they were just doing what people do, and that he'd be safe inside, that no one wanted to hurt him, or get to him, and that'd everything would be okay.

After the fireworks show, when we made it back to the car, I called him again, just to follow up.

I like to follow up.

And he was doing okay. Honey had fallen asleep, and he was about to, despite the noise still outside. He was okay. He did good. The following day he seemed to be fine, unaffected by the trauma of the previous night.

Onward and upward.