At this rate, it will take me the
remainder of the year to complete this book.
During the past couple weeks, I haven't been in much of a mood for
writing. I've been placidly content to
slide along. Outside of my hours at the
prison, my existence is becoming increasingly vapid. The solution, or turnabout is perhaps the
better word choice, hinges on two factors:
(1) the arrival of spring, and (2) the arrival of Barb. How can I allow myself to continue with these
days of no ambition? Not even a spark of
inspiration.
The other night I had quite an
unusual, somewhat disturbing dream. The
setting is of no consequence. I happened
to be talking with Linda and Judi (from UB).
During the conversation, I mentioned the fact that I had recently
written a letter to Herb, but as of yet had received no reply. The remark caused Linda and Judi to be
overwhelmed with looks of discomfort, as if to say, "You mean Paul hasn't
been told the news yet?" The news
turned out to be Herb's passing away. I
can't recall if the circumstances of his death were mentioned, but a car
accident lingers in my mind as the cause.
Shortly before Christmas, I did write to Herb, care of his parents. So far I have received no response. The message this dream carries is
frightening. Is this a psychic
experience or just my subconscious playing a foolish, but carelessly conceived
head game? I had plans to write to Tony
this evening. Perhaps he still has some
contact with our friends back East, though I think he has been out of contact
with them longer than I.
Last night as I left the house to
visit with Debbie, I thought I would give my car another chance to start. During the afternoon, the engine had nearly
turned over. Because the temperature had
dropped at least ten degrees since that time, I figured this would only be another
futile attempt. To my surprise, the car
started. So without gloves, I drove to
the cheapo gas station, only to discover that they had already closed. The Chevron station across from the post
office was the only place open.
When I returned home from my short,
but extremely satisfying ride, I walked behind the house only to discover that
the lights in Debbie's house were extinguished.
How odd, I thought. Usually she's
up until midnight watching television.
Later it occurred to me that she had probably taken the bus to visit her
aunt in Missoula.
Since my car was once again in
operating condition, I decided to make the trip to Helena despite the
inevitability of icy roads the entire way.
The highway was snowpacked and probably quite slippery, though from the
way my car handled, the conditions didn't seem to be that treacherous. At times I was cruising along at 60mph
despite the snow pack. I spent only a
brief time in Helena, slightly over two hours.
My main reason for going was to increase the final amount of my travel
voucher check. Who's not greedy?
Five months in Montana and what have
I accomplished? I have yet to put my
time outside of my job to use satisfactorily.
Yet I spent a good part of his fall editing my journals. That was an admirable accomplishment. Since then, I have consistently
procrastinated, unable to find a real point of interest of dedication in what I
want to do. Today I read about the weather. When I am in these moods I turn to something
factual in order to increase my present storehouse of knowledge. I think for the first time in my life I need
a companion. Deer Lodge is not the type
of place to live in solitude. The lack
of activity and entertainment must be made up for through a close
companionship. I'll admit to it. I need an old lady, and Barb is one of the
few individuals who could fulfill my needs at the present time. Barb is my only choice and alternative. Anyone else is either already committed or
frozen out of my existence. It least
tomorrow I'll be able to return to the prison library, there to feel
temporarily secure, to bask in the friendships I have made there.
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