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trying to retain some semblance of a relationship with his children. For years, I have been crucifying him for wanting something basic like a solid ordinary life.
    He turned to leave. I couldn’t bear it, so I called him back. I said, “Honey, are you okay? I’m worried about you.”
    He said, “It’s okay, honey, I’m fine.”
    I had to make things right, had to do something to ease the terrible despair that has now taken us both inside, had to do something about the hopelessness that I have dragged into this relationship. But what could I do?
    I said, “Honey, come back. Give me a kiss.” And he did.
    He was now dressed, had on his sweatpants, his hoody, black socks and white running shoes. He had bags under his eyes, had aged overnight and he’d just said he’s fine and have a good day. He came back to me, back to the bed, and he leaned down and he kissed me. His lips were warm and soft, but the man inside was sad. I felt that my husband had almost nothing left inside him as his lips pressed against my lips this morning. I felt his dead dreams in the pressure of his lips against mine.
    And here’s the thing, the semblance of the truth, here’s one thing, not God, no, not God, but the closest semblance to that one true thing as anything can be:
    All of this, all of it, is because of me.
    December 14, 2008
    I am in love with Ativan. I take too many. It knocks me out, dulls the pain.
    Last night I fell asleep with my head resting on my arms on the computer desk for four hours solid. The other night (my sister howled with laughter when I told her this) I was lying on the couch in the bunny room, cuddling Marcello and eating chocolates. I fell asleep, woke up the next morning with melted chocolate drooling out of the corner of my mouth and the majority of a chocolate wedged against the roof of my mouth.
    I am becoming an invalid.
    December 21, 2008
    3:24 am.
    There’s a blizzard out there tonight. The wind is howling. It has snowed eight inches this evening. I went out into the blizzard to haul a basket of laundry to the laundry room. The wind and snow swept over me, covered one side of my face and hair with snow, in a matter of seconds. When I left the laundry room and returned to the house a minute later, I was again swept over with wind and snow, which covered the other side of my face and hair in seconds. That felt good somehow, to be evened out, to have both sides of my face up against the blizzard. I wanted to keep walking into it, letting the snowflakes and black sky mesmerize me, walk down Beechwood to the ocean, stand at the lookout above Ross Bay, and let the blizzard surround me then bury me.
    How does this work? My mental status? There’s nothing particularly new or interesting to report: same rapid fluctuations of extreme emotions. I think this is rapid cycling. I have had some good days, walking lots, downtown and back again, wearing my snow boots and feeling like a kid again, crossing fields of untouched snow just to be the first person to make a path.
    I looked over at Leigh in his chair tonight, wearing his bathrobe, his elbow resting on the armrest, his hand against his cheek, head tilted, hair scruffy, and I could see that he was crying.
    December 22, 2008
    I am harpooned.
    Pinned to a wall that is not a wall but worse than a wall; I am harpooned, pinned to existence.
    Everyone is so far away.
    I can’t feel anyone.
    December 23, 2008
    I have been taking many photographs lately, pictures of snow and tombs and pathways and water. I have been taking pictures of beautiful things and ugly things, some close up and some far away.
    Many pictures of my rabbits: beautiful beyond measure.
    Footprints in the snow, untouched snow on the street, winter sunsets, pink, red, melting to blue and beryline.
    Shifting the perspective, the camera angle, landscapes in night vision. The world reduced to a cool shade of blue. Portrait setting. I have taken multiple