Exercised very hard on our lunch break. It felt as if ages had passed since this heart has danced so furiously. The score to The World Ends With You… You know, it was us who pushed Simone to the gym, us who mentioned Santa Monica then organized the trip. She’s never done anything on her own, except make the worst purchases… Used to throwing her money at her unhappiness. Stupid. Doesn’t it occur to her how much of precious life she’s wasting on garbage? She could die any day, any moment…
After one of Voronsky’s essays, we have to take a break and let the brain settle… We feel ourselves tire after such an exertion It used to be not like that, before the brain injury, and all the trauma. I used to be able to read endlessly. Now it takes a concerted effort just to keep my eyes on the same line of text, reading, writing, and I falter. Every sentence and sometimes every other word.
[…] She only gets in the way, is good only as a source of money, does not understand, cannot understand, cannot think for herself, cannot feel—
Even I, as damaged as I am, a cripple cognitively and feeble and ever more under daily or bi-daily batterings of trauma even I feel, think, aspire, have anger, hatred, despair, guilt, shame, optimism, a soul… Why does she… She feels nothing.
[…] She wants nothing. More than anything I feel contempt for her. In these rare lucid moments unclouded by trauma and primitive, regressive rage… Bi-daily I want to kill myself or kill others or both. I feel at ease only at work…
Time feels as if it’s stopped. Our daily, weekly rhythm has been erased. I have been bracing the sofa and kicking its side…