Okay, lemme see…what do I want to talk about? Uh, not that…maybe…near the end. But I wish…I wish we were on the phone, not that I don’t like to see Mr. D. He’s waiting for me now. He’s looking at me. I think he can see into me sometimes, like he can see my thoughts. I hope he didn’t see what I was thinking just a while ago. Anyway, I’d better say something: “Okay, where to start. Well, business first. I put the check in the mail for this month and next month, so that should have us covered”. That’s what I say. There. That should please him. Big smile. That’s right: give him a big smile, stretch this out. He’s not saying anything. Did he? Maybe he uttered something, but I barely heard it. That didn’t take long—not nearly as long as I thought it would. I guess I gotta come up with something. I don’t think he did say anything; I think he just nodded about the money thing.
“So, Mr. D I don’t…I don’t think I’m doing too good. I know you’re going to think less of me when I say that I let you down. I fell off the wagon, as people say—let you down, let down the big guy. That’s the most important thing, of course”. Also, I could’ve said I let father Larry down, too. I feel bad. I haven’t spoken to him in a while. I’ll confess to him later. Well, right now it’s Mr. D that I’m confessing to. It’s not the same, not as cozy as confessional. Not as spiritual. Mr. D: he’s the mental side of things. He’s looking at me weird again, like he does sometimes. I wish I knew what to say. I wish we could spread these meetings out, not come as often. I think I’d have more to report. Tonight, I feel like I’m spread thin. Ugh! What’s he thinking? He must think I’m a hopeless case, coming here every time, or nearly every time, talking about my sad stories, my slips and other failures. I’m gonna start talking about….no, I need to tell him about Luce, even though I’m not proud of that. I don’t quite know what he’ll say but I should take that chance. He’ll probably disapprove, though he never really says it like that. I don’t understand all that he says sometimes, like that thing he says about—what was it—something about not wanting to say no to women, about waiting for them to make the first move so that I can think it’s their idea, not mine. I kinda get what he’s saying, something about it not feeling like my fault or responsibility. Anyway, I don’t know but I always feel better after I come here, for a little while anyway—like, until I start my car and drive away. Ha, that’s funny. But now I sound pathetic. It’s the same when I leave father Larry, or when I’m talking to the big guy. I feel good for a while and then…I just have to remember what father Larry says and what Mr. D kinda agrees with: I’m never really alone.
So far, I’m not feeling that kind of good tonight. Mr. D just said something else that sounds familiar and I kinda get it but not really. I blanked out for a moment there, was thinking about Luce again, darn it! My mind is…what? What am I thinking about? Where is my head at? What am I doing here if I can’t even concentrate for just one hour, or even just a few minutes? Who am I doing this for? Wait, that was a weird question. Is that me? Sounded like something Mr. D would ask, making a point about how I don’t do things for me. Okay, he’s talking some more now, the pressure’s off me for a minute. Actually, I think I like what he’s saying now—it’s interesting—but I wish he’d tell me more. I mean, I wish he’d give me some tools for how to use what we’re talking about. I have no idea. Wait, that’s what he’s saying now—that’s super-weird—it’s like one of those times he’s seeing into my head, maybe. He’s saying I have no ideas, and he sounds…I don’t know, is he angry with me? That’s…I don’t know. Hey, I just had a thought: I don’t like this idea about how I don’t have ideas. I should say that. I should say, you know what, I’m not sure this was a good idea after all.