The headaches I have been receiving start at the temple then work to my forehead.
Writing is a slow process, and even slower considering the absence of my most valuable asset at the time. I’m furious with Seguchi for keeping it, yet I would expect no less of the man. I deserve the worst.
But what’s the bordering line between repenting and masochism? I can’t tell.
In a rage over my last few paragraphs, I had the notion to dice up the inside of my thighs and use the blood to write; this had often worked for me in the past. Even now, the faint scarring still remains on my hands: diligence, devotion, suffer, and excellence.
My prescription ran out, and I’m looking at the face of a terrible hospital bill. I called to inquire about what could be done in terms of financing it and they lowered the visit by seventy-percent. Still, I have to make payments for about four months. Electricity will be cut to a bare minimum; I will use flashlights and candles as much as possible. As well, it’s back to cold showers, or using the kettle to heat water for baths.
For a second I swore I saw Llian in here but when he turned around the ‘he’ was really a ‘she.’ I wonder how he’s doing aside from the investigation I did of his webpage.
In the midst of all this I almost called him but halfway through dialing I hung up. What do you say? “Hey, it’s me, Yuki, and I’m not dead”? “I’m sorry” isn’t ever enough.
I miss him terribly.