Chapter IX

Weaver:

Good. I am finally sedated enough. But how much is enough really? I have had enough. My collection of Percocet and Klonopin should get me through the next few months. I am feeling weary. I need to make sure I always have them with me, I hate running out. The pain will always be back. I take it for the chronic pain I have been dealing with. The pain has not seceded forever and it never will. My mind is weakened and cluttered in depression and my endorphin may have run dry. My cognitive imbalances are now a fight between the pain and the damage. I really need you to help me, but I understand how being far away makes one feel helpless, but writing you will put me at somewhat of an ease. I now understand.

Making multiple visits to the doctor led me to get examined with a camera shoved down my throat and into my a*s. Next is a surgical laparoscopy to examine my uterus. It takes a lot of strength to know that all these inanimate objects will be entering my non-material, natural body when the only foreign objects I have ever had in my body were needles, which always came back out. I am far away from you now- isolated in same state, yet a different part of town. You returned as soon as I left, oh the irony.

It is now December, the most spiteful time of the year for me. It is the month of sorrow, idiots rushing to shop for gifts and my sickness is getting worse. I hate Christmas. I was never really a devout anything of any kind, I always followed upon my own belief which is the belief in a deity- a supreme ruler of all. Nothing seems to make sense anyway, just like this life that I am bound in. I lost touch with Pete, Mario, and Andy in the past few months, and Rachel is soon to be moving to progress her career in psychology and I am sure to always visit her, for she is my sister and my best friend. I however have not lost touch with you, Weaver. I found a strange connection that I always felt from the moment I paid for a simple cup of coffee, and now we converse. I wish we did better in person.

I remember when you spoke to me after I had a dream about you, you reminded me of how belligerent I was when I was in the Bistro. I don't know if I should take that offensively or flatteringly. Either way I can't point out why there will always be a wire that connects me to you, it is yet to be uncoiled. If it is coiled, the wire can only go so far. I am sitting alone behind my window sill tonight and I would rather nobody get near me. I am nearly a mess and I could slur my words for hours, it is embarrassing. I need a muse and it definitely is not you as long as you are not near. The ones who claim to love me the most keep weakening me into pieces like the concrete crumbled on the side of a road. The edge is only near the cliff, and I am bound to fall into it.

Augustine