Write without care in a blurry scrawl, find it easier, more convenient, to scribble than to type, hit the keys hard, and get carpal problems, a reminder to another literary folly. Any dashes on these pages translate as generic separators, require no thought, fit where you write – provide a bridge to each short current, minimise the use of other punctuation. In the book about the addict, he is more violent, more reclusive, if that is possible. He breaks down long before you do, though you approach it many times. Numerous falls may equate to one vast collision. Only ever lose one tooth in the craziness, and have anaesthetic whenever you visit the dentist. He has root canal work without painkillers - grind, suck, spray ... grind, grind, and drill … how he does that, you fail to fathom. Understandably, he questions God’s existence and beckons the assistance of an illusory devil. He queries any involvement in AA, the big book, Bill W, the doctor, the myriad totems of the AA cause, even the triangle-bound circle: their patent and trademark. He despises their higher power, ability to cure all: the only possible cure. At twenty-three you are similar, leave the church behind for self-indulgent heresy, the ultimate in hedonism, run away from a friend whilst in your twenties who knows early, after several hurtful dips he is allergic, possesses that gene that turns alcohol into poison, an anti-elixir that consumes him. History shows alcohol destroys many minds, even races of people. Empathise.
Initiate anecdotes or vignettes, leave them, return, jump away, go past and then try to tie them up, leave and come back later. James Taylor’s music provides a diversion. Many pieces of you exist; see one at a time.
Days pass; see few people; days close to the end of parole. A secret makes the page, plan to reveal it eventually, fail to acknowledge the parole daily, and tend to act responsibly; probation carries little concern. At the beautiful lake, this time alone, though your bike accompanies the backpack, the water bottle and the maxi soy latte you purchase from the service station down the road from your temporary lodgings. Frequent there because the price is fair, they open longer hours, multiple people serve you and thus you are clear of solo coffee merchant alignment, the proprietary feeling, as your only option. On a journey like this one, the arrangement is more than satisfactory. Luckily, the bike has an extra drink holder, so not spilling a precious drop is a simple task. A duck splashes its way underneath the pier to counter the noise from the freeway that abuts – strong word, abut, nothing vague about the meaning.