I got this cold feeling inside, because I suddenly realized he was talking about me. He was bragging that I once thought I was too good for him, but now I’m not so bloody fucking too good for him. They say around here that some are sicker than others. Well, I decided that somebody was sicker than somebody in this situation, and I didn’t care if I had to be sicker than him, just as long as I wasn’t in his category. I never heard the third speaker, because I walked out of the meeting.

On the way back to my room, I stopped to see how Alex was. He was in bed and Lucille was taking his blood pressure. He looked like those pictures of kidnap victims that they send to the families with the ransom notes. He was pretending to be asleep, so I didn’t say anything.

. . . I’m so humiliated. What am I gonna say to everybody? What must they think? God, I’m exhausted. At least they didn’t make me see my parents. That I’m not quite ready for . . .

I feel awful, awful. I’m just glad I didn’t get arrested or anything. I hope everyone doesn’t stare at me like I’m some kind of animal. Maybe I went a little out of control. I did, I went out of control. I’m somebody who went out of control, which means I’m somebody who could go out of control again. I don’t know, maybe I haven’t been completely realistic with myself.

I still think I should write this script, though. I still think that’s a good idea. What if at the end the guy finally sees he’s an addict? He leaves the clinic and goes out and does a bunch of drugs to write this script about himself, and in the process he realizes he’s an addict. I don’t want it to be a corny ending where the guy gets really gung ho and starts going to meetings and applauding the people who make the coffee. I mean, he doesn’t become one of those Q-Tip heads who come up to you at airports and say, “I have a gift for you.” This is a cool guy anybody can identify with. An Everyman. With a drug problem, though. I bet my agent could get me an actual meeting with Barry Diller for an idea like this. It’s current, I haven’t seen it done before . . .

Maybe I should take it easy for a while, and not write it right away. I feel like such a moron. I’m so ashamed. Here I am way out in the middle of my life and I feel like this. It’s like I’ve got wind blowing through my chest or something . . .