2/13/2021 - Saturday
A quick rundown of the precautions I’m taking to ensure the safety of my friends and family: each entry of this journal will be written on an encrypted Word document and privately stored on a USB stick that I keep in a safe which I bought for this specific purpose. I am writing on a refurbished Toshiba laptop (2009) that has no Internet connection capabilities, no camera, and no microphone.
I would have handwritten this, but it’s harder to encrypt that way.
My hope is that this method will give me some relief from [XXXXXXXX] without actually causing anyone any harm. I don’t know if it will work. I can’t destroy the entries after I write them, because that’s the same as not writing them at all. They have to exist, somewhere, so the best I can do is hide them. When the safe is full I’m going to bury it. Or drop it in the sea.
Castile suggested eating the USB sticks. I thought he was joking. I asked if he was joking. He was not joking. “I don’t joke,” he said, which is a lie — in fact, it might be the only lie he’s ever told me.
Already just writing this, some of the pain is easing up, but I’m still getting a compulsion every now and then to MY NAME IS BENJAMIN FARROW MY NAME IS BENJAMIN FARROW MY NAME IS BENJAMIN FARROW MY NAME IS BENJAMIN FARROW MY NAME IS BENJAMIN FARROW NAME IS BENJAMIN FARROW NAME IS BENJAMIN FARROWNAME IS BENJAMIN FARROW
NAME IS BENJAMIN FARROW
NAME IS BENJAMIN FARROW
was worried about me and I told him that I’m fine.
“You aren’t yourself,” he said.
“Neither are you,” I told him. We laughed. Then he got very quiet, and I asked him what was the matter, aside from the obvious.
“Sometimes these days I wonder if we’re friends,” he said. “I have to keep telling myself that you despise me.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, except to say, “Things changed.”
“What changed?” he asked.
“You saved my life,” I told him. We both let the phrasing of that sink in, and I started laughing again.
I don’t have any savings left. I have to get a job. I’ve been looking at job boards and leaving the apartment when I can stand it but I always end up bailing, even if I get an interview. I can’t be around people anymore. Can’t stand them. Can’t stand the way their faces blur and go runny as soon as I stop looking at them straight on.
Brought this up to Castile who, and I still don’t know if this was really a joke, suggested gardening.
I start at the nursery around the corner on Friday.
He’s better company than he was at come home come home come home come home
But it still gets lonely here, with just the two of us.
Maybe I should get a cat.
He likes cats.