Florie is gone and my suite is a bunk room again. I dropped her off and got home and opened our chat box, of course. Hello! How are the plants?

The plants are dead?! How can that be?

Been awhile. We about forgot all about the place.

Take a right here, right?

"I think."

You know what else I forgot is that I never mind it very much, having a new room-mate. And Bickerell is no stranger, he's lived in this house before, a year ago, and has been a friendly (n.) in AA meetings since.

He's a kid, about 23 I think, but makes up for it by exaggerated conscienciousness. (He woke me up, being so slow and quiet entering the room and making his way to his bed last night.)

Alcoholic roofer, gonna break his neck, hit bottom on someone's driveway if he doesn't use the prescribed good, orderly direction.

Sometimes I wonder, is everyone the same around here, or am I just dull and unable to distinguish them. I think sometimes I'm dull in the sense of being indifferent and uninterested. Sometimes I imagine an individual
has materialized in my life, and I go, yeah! But even then I pretty quickly lose interest.

Mom was a car. Best friend a Martian. The lady I'm seeing is a sprite. My pen-pal is a complicated woman, for all I know she's some famous novelist incognito.

It's old age. I'm a crank already. Very few leave an impression here.

Open your mind, open your heart and that may open your mind. I wish I were more outgoing, I will always wish that. I relate to this man. "In Postman's Death, A Mystery..."

" Mr. Gagne was, by many accounts, socially awkward and had problems striking up even casual conversations. He was often heard mumbling to himself and complained about how heavy the mailbag was.

“Being social was extremely difficult for him, said Jeff Kline, who lives on the street. “He would answer if I spoke to him, but he wouldn’t strike up a conversation.” "

But his story, his secrets remind me of myself. Reading the article I thought of the Rehab notion of "Alcoholic Shame". Whatever this guy's problem was, it reminds me of my own secretiveness in my teen age years. What's left undone, piles up. Abandon yourself and nature takes over. "Do nothing, somethings going to happen."

Even if he were caught, never worked up the courage to confess but was just caught, I'll bet in the end he would still have been tremendously relieved. The Incredible Lightness Of Being. Where have you been officer, I've been waiting twenty years.

Dead at 54.