I'm not doing so well. I keep breaking, losing my grip, weeping like a baby. I have to go to work tomorrow because they are having a surprise party for me. I think. I have a meeting scheduled for admin at a bar close to the factory. I've been there a very long time. We have never done that before.
When I think about what is happening this week, I am overcome.
I got an email from a woman at work today saying goodbye. As soon as I read it, I was convulsive.
I could keep that to myself. Many of you might prefer that I did. I should be stoic like a Hemingway character. But wait--all his heroes weeped. As the saying goes, they were lonesome, sad, and blue. I've never had a hard heart, and I can't harden it now. My father was a tough guy. A very tough guy. But he was a baby, too.
I don't want to cry in front of people at a party, but I think it is inevitable.
I hope I can write to you tomorrow that there was no party at all, or, if there was, I didn't cry.
Have I ever told you about how I feel? Well, let me. Right now I feel isolated, not simply from people, but from everything. The objects in my house that have brought me joy suddenly make me despondent. The house is dark and depressing. The day is brilliant. Fantastically clear deep blue skies. Bright highlights, deep shadows. The air is cool and gentle. They don't make so many days like this.
It oppresses me.
Remember the '70s? If you did, you would remember how ugly everything was. That is how the world appears to me now. People are awful. No one appeals to me. No one is attractive. No one is interesting. And I don't wish to be alone.
O.K. That's enough. You get my drift (delivered in the voice of Edward G. Robinson). I just thought you should know.
Other than eating with my mother, I've been alone for five days now. My voice breaks when I try to speak.
Wait, wait! I thought you said that was enough?
I'll take a break and continue this later.
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