Rosie has been glued to me for two straight days . . . she wants to be with me every moment I am here in Emma’s house, only breaking away momentarily if Emma herself is in the room. Rosie and I are old friends, but surely she knows I am Going Through It, and thus feels compelled to comfort me.

Today she and I slept till one in the afternoon on account of the SEVERE NITETIME I have been relying on to lull me to sleep, otherwise it’ll just never happen. And even when I did wake up, she refused to get off my body, so I stayed in bed for another hour and a half, not wanting to disturb her. Hey, it’s OK with me . . .

I have felt so odd today . . . I had been in real bad shape for a straight week, and now I don’t feel so bad anymore, but I’m not exactly happy either. I have felt so many different ways in the last twenty-four hours that it almost makes me want to puke. I don’t know what to do about it other than to go to Japan and walk it off, or hope for a sort of clarity to come to me in my dreams. Perhaps Rosie will, in some mysterious way, DELIVER UNTO ME this solution I so badly need, but I won’t count on it . . . I can’t expect her to do everything!

For now I see through a glass, darkly . . . I could not see my own fate even if it were a foot in front of me. Right now I could be headed in any direction, including directly off the face of the earth, and I wouldn’t know it until it was too late. Such is my tale. I so badly wish I could go back in time a month or so and make a few decisions differently . . . perhaps I would not be where I am right now, in a place I do not want to be, a sort of limbo, had I chosen the alternate path which was hidden to me at the time. But then I reckon you could sit there for all eternity and feel that way when it comes to just about anything. My heart hurts and I am physically and emotionally exhausted beyond even my own comprehension of it. I feel a soul despair. When I left Berlin in August I had a general sense of where I’d end up and what I’d be doing and how I’d feel when I reached this point, but I was wrong on all counts. Well, what the hell else is new, my being wrong about everything . . . I suppose all I can ever truly know is that I know nothing, and that is, after all, the highest degree of human wisdom. I think a fella from long ago who was much smarter than me once said that . . . or perhaps it was Rosie.