Chapter 3a

The following is another entry from the journal of Erwin Packard. There were a few other entries between the last and this one but, due to issues with our resources department, we were unable to gain any useful insight in these except that there may have been a large number of words. Our research department was at the time suffering severe fatigue and so he didn't remember much of what he had read but, after a short nap and a cup of coffee and perhaps a week paid vacation, the department was able to dredge up an entry of interest.

Monday, January 17, 1994

Wife gone.

Family gone.

Home gone.

Job not gone.

And it's Monday.

I Need to Find a Way Out of Here.

I sometimes think back to all the times I had the chance. Well, maybe not all of the times, but I like to hit on my top ten. Semi on the highway, drunk on the train tracks, bite a grenade and pull the pin (okay, I've never had the chance to hold a live grenade but it always sounded like such a quick and simple way to go), whatever.

I'm glad I didn't. I've lived a lot since then. I've hurt a lot since then but, hey, per angusta ad augusta. The real bitch of it? I still don't know the answer. I'm not sure I remember the question. If I died in a fire would Santa still come? No, that's not it. If I'm here then where am I? No, that doesn't make sense. If I'm settling for a six you'd better be doing the freaky shit. No, not a question. Possibly the answer. Hard to tell without a question.

I think this is it. Question and answer time is over. The question isn't important, maybe it never was. I've got a new question. I dream the same every night. Something is wrong with me. I jumble words together that sound more like regurgitation than logic. Everyone has noticed. I can't follow a single thought for more than a minute but I can get lost thinking about tangents for hours. Sometimes I lose the distinction of the topic at hand from the one on my mind. Someone will say, "That guy is staring at you," and suddenly I'll think the grocery store is the setting for a porno. Maybe it's not that bad. Maybe it's worse. I only know about these things in retrospect if I'm lucky, usually when I'm called out on it. The thoughts I have all seem clear internally but people tell me in whispers and secrets that I act like a zombie, that they're afraid of me and for me, they see a moving body with no soul. The ego has abandoned the id and the id was already about half retarded.

So here's a new question, this time to my future self, because my past self was obviously as bad as I was at that time. Let me know what's going on, even if you can't tell me until I'm your age. Am I still crazy? Please circle an answer.