I talked to Thomas on the phone today. He said he’s been trying to reach me, but the line is always busy—it’s a pay phone. Thomas sounded so calm, so okay, so not me. Somehow I absorbed the world’s genetic horror, while my brother inherited the sweetness and patience of someone who befriends birds. He’s one of the few people who, when you ask how he is and he says fine, you don’t question it. It reminds me of the scene in The Exorcist when the priest looks into the devil inside the possessed girl and cries, “Take me!” and the devil leaves the girl and enters the priest. It’s like I’m an exorcist, taking all the darkness and letting it gather inside me, while Thomas absorbs—well, maybe not light, but certainly lighter colors. There’s some sad buoyance in him. He ambles and strolls, moving through life in smooth easy motions. I told him that the great thing about having me as a sister is that I make him look even better by supplying him with contrast. He said, “The really great thing about having you as a sister is that you’re the only adult I know that keeps a bowl of Tootsie Rolls for her guests.” I don’t know why, but this made me feel better.

Sid said that drugs weren’t the problem, life was the problem. Drugs were the solution. I think Sid has a crush on me. He gets me up in the morning by coming into my room and holding my feet until I’m totally awake. I like having my feet held, even if it is by Sid.

Marvin still doesn’t think he’s an alcoholic.

Mark showed me his letter from Manson today. It didn’t seem to make much sense—something about redwood trees. Mark says Manson is deeply misunderstood and a “cool guy.”

DAY FOURTEEN

Today Mark threatened Sid’s life. Nobody quite knows what happened, but Mark was given Haldol, an antipsychotic. Now he has all this mung in the side of his mouth, and he looks wilder than ever. Carol and Wanda say they’re going to put trash cans in front of their doors tonight, because there are no locks in drug clinics.

Carl’s mad at me because I gave him ten dollars to shut up. He says I’m a spoiled movie actress and I don’t know the first thing about real life. Maybe he’s right. Sometimes I feel like I’ve got my nose pressed up against the window of a bakery, only I’m the bread.

DAY FIFTEEN