Now that sorrow and depression have turned to sheer, utter rage. I could probably beat the shit out of just about anybody right now. No matter how big they were, I could toss them around like they were a rag doll. And I mean with my bare hands, too. I want to take someone like O. J. Simpson, who doesn’t deserve to live, and with my bare hands, I want to slowly torture him till I finish him off.

I wish God would appear to me in human form, so he could tell me why he did this, among all the other BS he does, and let me have him face to face, but the murdering wimp could and would never do such a thing.

We all know that, unlike the rest of my body, my hands are very weak. They’ve got the strength of an 8-year-old. Yet when I squeezed Tom’s hand to show him how furious I was, I hurt his hand. For this, I feel so very very bad. I did this to a great guy who deserves to live more than most of the human population. He said it’s OK, he understands but I feel terribly guilty and mad at myself. I had no idea I could or would do this and harm him in any way.

I’m so mad right now that when I heard a car door outside, I was hoping it was next door and that they’d blast their music and give me the slightest reason and excuse to pounce on them like a bobcat. Well, there was no music, and what with these houses being so close, it may not have been them. It could’ve been across the street. There still is no car over there and as far as I know, there hasn’t been for just over a week.

I wish everyone who’d ever done me wrong was here right now. My uncles, people like Donna A, Barb D, and Barb I. There’s more, too, and I can think of at least 20 people. Boy, would I have a field day with them, and boy, would they be shocked beyond belief. I’d slam their heads into the wall, kick them, punch them, throw them.

Tom said I’m running away from this whole mess. I am? Since when is admitting how you feel and discussing it running away from it? Then he said that this isn’t the way to feel. It’s not? Last I knew, there was no wrong emotion. Some sicko with a fancy for children, well, that’s wrong. Some God or devil killing a 16-year-old with a bright future and who could’ve done or had anything is wrong.

Well, even though Tom and I don’t see eye to eye about Larry dying, he’s been a wonderful support and for that, I am ever so grateful. He knows I need to get it out and deal with it my way. Not what others think may be the best way. I need to go on with my life. On with my hobbies and yes, on with sex. No one’s stupid here. We all know I’d take a child, despite the happiness, surprise, fears, and doubts it’d bring, but I know not to expect that.

I also told my dad that if he needed anyone to bitch to about this ordeal, to please call me.

There’s something else that burns me up about this. If we had had a child who was killed, my parents never would’ve come out here. Not by ground, not by air. To us, if we were even communicating, they’d just say that these things happen. To themselves, they’d say it’s all for the better, both for the kid’s sake and for mine.

I’m also very sad that I still don’t have any pictures of either Larry, Sandy or Jen. Even sadder that I never got to see him. My folks have seen him a few times, Tammy’s seen him once, but I haven’t seen him since he was about 7 years old.

As far as when to call and talk to Larry and the others, Tammy suggested I try calling their house in Feeding Hills tomorrow. Maybe they’ll be back sometime tomorrow. I was worried that they’d think I didn’t care, but Tammy and others gave Larry and the rest my condolences and they know my heart goes out to them.

Later...

Naturally, I’ve let Andy know about this miserable situation. I’ve also left Marla messages.

And I thought 1997 was to be great? Who the fuck was I kidding?! It was nothing but pure old-fashioned wishful thinking. This year will be either worse or no better than any other year. Especially the last few.

What the fuck is going on out there right now? It sounds like a horde of people are slamming car doors right now.

Anyway, where was my fucking 6th sense when I needed it? Why didn’t I have any vibes? I was totally caught off guard, without warning. When Tammy called, I knew something was wrong. It was in her voice. I thought it was gonna have to do with Bill, though. Something within her household only. In the quietude of the wee hours of the 16th, there was no omen. No sense. No feeling. The air did not smell of despair. There was no feeling of any doom.

I’ve been smoking so much. Smoke permeates this whole house, but I couldn’t care less. I just keep puffing away. I feel I don’t care whether I live or die.

Speaking of death, I wonder who will be next? Is God gonna rotate back and forth between Tom’s family and mine? Is he gonna kill us off one by one? Why did this have to happen? Why did he have to die? Why is God so full of murderous hate? Only those who are also murderous and hateful, who live like God, with no guilt, remorse, conscience, fear or limits, get respected by God. They get long, healthy lives. They can have anything they want.

Why?!?!