Do you ever remember shows you used to love on television years ago, and wonder what ever happened to the actors? I do. I am so detached from myself it is, well, in my current mind frame, acceptable and fine. I feel so uneasy and anxious. I sit in this basement apartment in trendy Chelsea NY writing to help myself understand how I got here. I mean I know that I'm depressed and lonely. I know that I make myself sick with all my corruption and watching myself weaken and waste away, frail and useless. I see the slackness of my mind translating into the softening of my once powerful body and just won't care or do anything about it. This isolation has been a reflection period for me, a cleansing that I appreciate. Away from everyone I have been able to curb my vices, drunk is a memory and I am happy with that. Rage has become secondary and tertiary each passing day. I get up, move some boxes, walk to Union Square for my coffee and possibly a pastry at the farmers market. Peruse Barnes & Nobles Booksellers. Gripe about the cost of cigarettes. Come home in the bitterness, go out for Elissa and my dinner. read, play online. There are days where I won't speak more than fifty words, I can be so anonymous here it is incredible and that I think, helps me slip away from all these feelings. Maryland, home tomorrow. I do not know if I ever want to go home. I am used to my solitude. It is honest. I am ready to be alone.