Discover more from The Last Hundred Miles
April 28th, 1971
I am continually looking for an answer. But I am looking for one answer to all the different questions I have. Perhaps I should handle them one question at a time. Is there such a thing as an answer?
I just finished reading The Chose, by Chaim Potok and am in a process of evaluation. My mood is so intensely different from before I started reading.
I think I will take a few days off and go home. I need the quiet– the isolation to think my present situation through.
“The summer” has taken on unbelievable dimensions for me. I am seeing it was a pivot of some sort in my life. I feel as though this summer has got to be when I finally start getting organized–practical–planned. I want to get not only my planes together– but also whatever it is– within me– that constantly changing entity. I feel like going home for a rest would help me.
I am going to sleep now.
* * *
The final question of life is not what we do– but how we do it. You might do a lot with your life– but unless you did it correctly it doesn’t matter and you wind up failing after all. And no second chances. Everything has to be total. I somehow manage to just get by– and through all my scenes.
* * *
Tonight I panicked because I didn’t have any grass or beer. For the first time in a long time I was forced to spend an entire evening alone– straight. So I read and I’ve just been thinking for about the past hour and a half.
It’s strange– I’ve gotten out of the habit of thinking this intensely and I think that’s bad. The only real mental development of my life took place during those years of hell when I was living at home and had no escapes. I delved so deeply into myself then. I can remember really hitting levels of “high” while meditating. I don’t think I could spontaneously do that now. Now I have my mental fantasy roles and my drugs and my booze and my sex.
I must be very careful.