Not so many months ago, I felt like a ghost haunting my life. Now I feel dead to the world. I breathe, eat, defecate, sleep, and repeat. But I know I am no longer part of the vitality of life. I am surrounded by men either waiting sentencing or returning to the world. I feel no real contact with them.
I write. I read. Both feel like I am wrapping something up rather than starting anything new. I keep thinking of books I wanted to read before I died. I think of everything like that. I continue my Bible reading. It gives me what hope I have, but those hopes do not rally belong in this world. (Can anyone with an iota of faith read the Gospel of John, and not blush when thinking of this world.) I give out ideas for dealing with my writings, with my defense, for business ventures, as if there were a future. I must keep up appearances.
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