10.24.2006 (23:30:00)

It has been a few weeks since I saw the eye doctor at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. I've been trying to figure out how I'm going to take the news.

It is a strange and rather rare problem that has come too late in my life to be defined as Stargardt?s Disease, and too early to be defined as Macular Degeneration. Either way, I'm doomed. Fast.

When I got the pacemaker, I wasn't really devastated because I knew it would fix me (or at least patch me). There is nothing I can do about this. Slow it down a little, but it is something that will change a lot of things for me.

Just another day in the life...

10.27.2006 (01:45:00)

I haven't slept for about 48 hours. I just can't. Nothing is working.

I came across the following poem by Stevie Smith yesterday:

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him
his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

It made me think of my friend John Magrane. I miss him. He was truly the kind of person this world needed. 18 stories down after his irrational decision, it suddenly didn't matter - and it was over for him. I mentioned his name to someone when referencing something rather funny we used to do together. This person knew him. And didn't know he was dead or even why. It all came back.