It suddenly occurs to me that I will not die. Not just yet. 24 hours ago? I had no such confidence in the living. My state of body is much improved, my friends. I can say nothing about my state of mind. Not just yet, anyway. Here's a hint: watch for the subtext. Here's another hint: I love my friends.

Brittania and her friend (now my friend) Justin are here. We are having too much fun.

Thursday night, the night of their arrival, is rather lost to me, I'm afraid. I know we tried to play Cranium and I know brother Dan called and that Brittania talked to him for a long time and so did I. I know talking to him when we're both in our cups sounds like a bad idea, but is actually quite fun. I know naught else. I really can't remember. Scott came over, right? Oh! Except Frances, called up to say "we're having fun over here. Are you having fun over there?" I love Frances, baby I do.

Yesterday was a series of naps strung together by brief bouts of rather unacceptable wakefulness. I did not have coffee until 6 pm. If you are ever near me at all, do not let this happen. Get the coffee in me as soon as you possibly can.

We went to the grocery store because Justin was determined to make stuffing with cranberries and walnuts. While we were at the grocery store we decided to make a whole Thanksgiving meal. I feel it's important to point out that none of us cook. We bought the stuff and came home and cut potatoes and pooled our scant cooking knowledge and listened to Steve Earle and drank red wine and it was lovely.

Justin gave us each a book. He gave me The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa because he heard that I am often melancholy. I opened the book and here is an excerpt from the first page:

I'm writing to you today out of sentimental necessity--I have an anguished, painful need to speak with you. It's easy to see that I have nothing to tell you. Just this: that I find myself today at the bottom of a bottomless depression. The absurdity of the sentence speaks for me.

I'm having one of those days in which I never had a future. There is only a present, fixed and surrounded by a wall of anguish. The other bank of the river, because it is the other bank, is never the bank we are standing on: that is the intimate reason for all my suffering. There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes where life is not painful; nor is there any port of call where it is possible to forget. All of this happened a long time ago, but my sadness began even before then.

...

This sentence in entirely absurd. But in this moment I feel it's the absurd sentences that really make me want to cry.

If I were a better writer, this could be a page ripped from this very diary, no?

Today: croquet, crochet, Solaris, and bowling. I could still sleep for about 8 more hours, but the sun is out, baby, and I am ready to be up. Brittania and Justin are still sleeping. I am chewing vitamin C after vitamin C because I have been sneezing for about 24 hours straight and have no desire to wander down the path of illness. I may just take Bash to the lake right now. Yes. I'm gone.