Tuesday morning, unable to wake up in time, I one hour later managed to call the Co to say “I don’t think I can make it today.” Huge guilty feeling. Sleeping or muddling, with dreams and flashing pictures, whole day, that dreadful, but familiar, feeling returned.
Early Thursday morning, trying to come up with the means to carry "it" out, I almost settled down with a knife. However I changed my mind. Do not I have many sleeping pills?? Coward!!! I swallowed only five tablets… Still somewhat staggering, I thought today is Wednesday...
I even thought about a combination of pills and knife to ensure a success. What is it for me to “want” to stay alive? Is there any place where I can be at peace?? I do not need any luxury.
The fact that I don’t have a place I can call home is the source of angst?? Have I turned the wrong corner somewhere??
On Ortega y Gasset, it was totally unexpected to find his name in “Homage to Catalonia.” In me, he was someone who lived so long time ago… At the same time, I knew he was a Spanish man who lived in the 1930s. After all it shouldn’t have been surprising at all. Then, I thought he was a thinker/philosopher not the police chief of the Government.
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