When will I be ok?

 I missed another appointment yesterday.  I am crying every day. I am angry all the time when I'm not high. Another friend told me last week that it took energy to be my friend. I am lonely but I don't want to be a bother so it's just easier to not contact anyone.

Thank God (really) for Covid last week so I didn't have to explain why I only wanted to be with Winston, Poppy, and Will on Thanksgiving.

I'm doing my best not to read "it costs me to be your friend" as "Kake is a bad person."

How am I going to get through the next month?  Answer: get up.  cry. walk dog. do stuff. cry. eat. pet cat. go to bed.  repeat.

Is this the rest of my life?

That's Kookee Kookee

San Francisco Memories

 Dear Will —

We had so much fun for so many years in San Francisco.  I have happy memories of our time here.  One day especially I was remembering today.  Early this morning I grabbed a cable car, hoping to get as far as California street, but the car was forced to turn around early because of blocked streets associated with APEC — Asian Pacific Economic Conference - and President Biden’s traveling around the city.

Anyway, I was remembering that 1974 cable car trip we took from downtown to right here, next to Ghirardelli Square when we raced to see a movie either at either Ghirardelli or The Cannery.  We jumped off the car and ran to the theatre.  All for a poor reward! We were going to see what turned out to be one of the worst movies ever:  Peter Bogdanovich’s Daisy Miller.  We laughed for years later about that.

When I came back from my ride that went nowhere this morning, the lobby of my hotel was filled with uniformed secret service agents — a sea of about 40 men and women in blue with straps and backpacks.  A little scary.  But I guess they were just going off shift.

I’m going to have dinner at the opera house tonight.  I plan to Lyft out of the hotel extra early, just in case.

I’ve been pushing hard at the old Sally scar since I’ve been here — I can see the Bridge from my room.  I don’t feel grief for her anymore — just a kind of sadness for our family and the trickle down effects of murder and suicide.

My sister and I were collateral damage from my parent’s responses to Sally’s actions.  I am so happy you were my sweetheart by the time she finished her task.  I’m sorry my own mental illness made our lives difficult for a few years but thank God we got back together after my time in Salt Lake.

I’m finally learning, slowly, to be okay without you but it’s really hard.  Even in your dementia you were still yourself, though I assume I was a variety of people — including your mother.

I will love you always.

Kake

Detritus

I've been going through my own books now, slowly, as I move them from room to room trying to figure out what I want to keep and what I want to toss.  Here's a book you'd think I would have tossed out decades ago.  It's well over fifty years old, beat up, broken, and pretty much pointless, what with access to the interwebs.  And yet, and yet.

It held the little note you see next to it.  This little note was slipped across a table to me by my one-time cousin-in-law, now long gone.  It invites me to a surprise part for my Aunt Huldah Bell.  It was after this party that I followed Will to his apartment three blocks away and seduced him to start the life that I am now mourning.

The note says, "We're having a party for Huldah Thurs. at 6:00 -- a surprise."