Eight months

Each month seems longer than the one before.

I’m eight months into my life sentence. I guess this is my way of recording them on the wall of my cell. It’s a paradoxical life sentence that is served in a state of freedom (arguments about whether U.S. society is truly free aside). Just in the sense of being deprived permanently of a treasured life and forced to live another desolate one. And I didn’t commit a crime. I don’t believe love can ever be a crime.

The price of love is loss, but this kind of loss, the most untimely kind of death possible, is the most difficult to get one’s head around.

I am learning how to avoid certain trains of thought that will disable me if I follow them. I am learning who is there for me and who is not. I am figuring out what I am able to do, and what I am no longer able to do, at least for now. I am finding out which activities are good distractions and which ones just make it worse.

The horror portrayed in entertainment is real. And it is far worse than any TV show or movie can convey.

In other news, the lads and I will be playing on September 6th at El Mundo Bueno Studios in Emeryville. It’s a benefit for the Stone City Pagan Sanctuary. We go on at 6:45 p.m.