MARCH 2015
A couple weeks late for March, 2015. I can't believe I made it to 2015. I had always thought I would die, either of a heart attack, as a victim of a random shooting, or by my own hand. My mind has ebbed back to the gloom of yesteryear. I can't believe it, but it's true - I am fatalistic again - always fantasizing about dying in dramatic fashion, like rescuing someone while falling to death myself. I am just....damaged. I will always feel weird, wired, self-loathsome, and immature. There, I said it - my values are immature. They are in the gutter. I still harbor resentment from decades ago. Tonight I ripped up all my high school yearbooks. I graduated THIRTY years ago this coming spring. For THREE DECADES I carried them around with me, from place to place. So tonight, in trying to keep with my spirit of being organized and not holding on to junk, I found them in a box - top shelf of a closet. I took them to the floor, where I sat cross-legged and stared at