I have fever dreams when I come off the drink. Weird nightmares waking in cold sweats. Last night I dreamt of Anne’s father in a dim corner booth of the old IRT, like the Greek riverman who you pay your token to get to the underworld. I pass him unnoticed, and then I’m down there on a platform somewhere in the Bronx. The punks have put out all the lights, and it smells God awful and the train is nowhere to be found. There’s laughter and screams bouncing off the walls. When I look down the platform, the columns recede and I feel sick. And then the train comes and it’s on fire, and I can feel the heat off it, and the doors open and there are Anne and Dan and I don’t know what to do. Do I take them off the train? Do I get on? The car is molten hot and it’s burning my eyes, and the two of them are just staring at me as the doors close, and I realize too late it’s a purifying fire and I’m stuck in this dark and wretched place. And I wake up on that and there are all these birds chattering and twitching and carrying on outside the window but it’s dark out, dawn an hour away still.

February 23

Haven’t touched the sauce in four days, which is something. If I can make it a week, then a month, then we’ll see.

Dan has been such a trooper. This morning he was reading the paper and he found an article in the business section about American opening their new HQ in Fort Worth. “If they’re expanding, maybe you can get your old job back.” It was said with such love and hope and I kissed him on the forehead and wanted to cry and now I’m completely crushed and empty inside.

February 24