Josh: Recriminations

I have never felt this before. I have been angry, but not like this. This is rage. This is fury. This is a towering desire to destroy, and while I intend to turn this emotion on my enemy eventually, for now I cannot help but feel it for myself.

How could I have been so utterly clueless? He was right in front of me the entire time, laughing at me, playing out his trick.

Every time I look back, I see more signs and clues. Mostly, I remember our friendly arguments about Georg Hegel and Arthur Schopenhauer; how we would sit by the window and banter good-naturedly about Hegel's falling into drastic disfavor in modern thought. I am a student of philosophy, but never once did I remember this famous quote made by Sir Karl Popper concerning Hegel:

"It was child's play for Hegel's powerful dialectical methods to draw real physical rabbits out of purely metaphysical silk hats."

Oh, and of course, Hegel died when? 1831.

I come again to Taras' post, which at this point has been scrutinized more closely than the Zapruder film. With his final words he makes a comment which I took to mean that the Magician is everywhere and all-powerful, but in fact I think he was trying to give us a clue:

"The young man had helpfully left the code key active, and while it was impossible to read what had been previously written, anything could be typed in and transmitted. It didn't matter, the magician read everything and he didn't need codes or magic to do it."

He meant it literally. He was telling us that the Magician was just looking over my mother's shoulder and reading everything, no magic necessary.

Mary begs me not to judge us too harshly, but I can't stop thinking about it. We see what we want to see, I suppose.

I'll give myself one more hour of looking back and beating the hell out of myself. From then on, it's the Magician's turn.

Josh: That's It, I'm Giving Up Poker

Well, you bluffed me. Fair enough.

Mary just dropped me off at my apartment (near Marquette University downtown, for any newcomers). I'm going to hang out, drink a spot of green tea, reminisce about the murder scene I saw earlier today and throw up for a while.

Mary is heading back to the St. Francis Police Department to pester Detective Ward a bit more for any other crumbs of info.

Mom, I remember what you said about this being more of a journal than a log, and I feel like I do need to write out some of the things that I'm feeling about what's happening, so this is that. Forgive the naval-gazing, but I've got to get this stuff out.

When the accident-grr... I mean ATTACK-happened, I was just stunned that my Dad was dead and that my Mom was injured so badly. I would have liked to have actually done something then, just to get my mind off of it, but even being almost entirely paralyzed, my Mom was issuing orders and making arrangements from the Intensive Care Unit. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad she didn't curl up into a ball and give up, but for a moment there I thought that for once in my life I was actually going to take care of her for a change. It turns out that if anything her paralysis has made her even more capable, or at least gave her a greater focus.

Anyway, even though I feel totally out of my depth and entirely wigged out by what I saw today, I have to say that I still feel pretty good. I'm helping, and that's not something I've been able to say much in my life. Granted, at this point I kind've wish I had a degree in criminal science instead of Philosophy, but this is hardly the first time a Philosophy grad regretted their choice of majors. Still, at least I can swing by the house for visits and debate the merits of Hegel (below, looking like a barrel of laughs) with Jeff (Jeff's down with Hegel, I'm more on the side of Schopenhauer who called Hegel's work: "...A monument to German stupidity." Look out! Philosopher slap-fight!!!)

Shockingly, I appear to have veered off on a tangent.

I'm going to take a nap.

Cynthia: Mens Mentis Medicus

During my various charity efforts on behalf of the AHCA, I have acquired a detailed list of some of the finest practitioners of medicine in the country. While nothing immediately springs to mind in the field of psychiatry, I have no doubt whatsoever that I can obtain the name of someone exceptional within the hour, Miss Stroud. I shall have Jeffrey leave the necessary information on the table in the foyer.

As this is the second time he has been mentioned, I should introduce my personal care worker, Jeffrey Werth. A personal care worker is not a nurse, but someone capable of carrying out the sundry, oftentimes repulsive duties required to keep a quadriplegic alive. Again, through my contacts in the American Health Care Association I was introduced to an organization called Independence First, an institute devoted to assisting disabled individuals in attaining as much personal freedom as possible. Independence First provided the resumes of personal care workers, and I interviewed and rejected almost a dozen of them before I hired Jeffrey.

Jeffrey is working toward his nursing degree at the University of Marquette (while Marquette is most renowned for their post-graduate work in the theology and bio-medical fields, their Nursing program is not far behind in terms of prestige). He is perhaps the hardest working person I have ever met, and seems to have no difficulty at all with what I consider to be the almost intolerably odious tasks necessary to keeping a paralyzed human body alive.

Of paramount import to me, however, is that my personal care worker actually be capable of conversing on subjects beyond my mere survival. I realized early on that whomever I employed would become the central figure in my existence, and though some may call it snobbish, I had no desire to spend my remaining days being attended to by some dullard. When not tending to my basic needs, Jeffrey spends our mornings reading Hegel aloud to me and making invaluable suggestions on precisely which Gorham silver service to purchase for the dining room I no longer have a use for. (Below: Gorham tea set. Absolutely magnificent patternwork.)

Should you require anything here at the house, consider Jeffrey to be acting on my behalf and trust him as you would me.

Also, though I am loathe to discuss the details of my personal situation, I should inform you as to how I am typing this at all. I use Dragon NaturallySpeaking Preferred software to transform my speech into type, and I find that the company's claim of ninety-nine percent accuracy is for the most part valid. To navigate web pages I utilize a mouth-manipulated joystick.

On another note: Joshua, with Miss Stroud's permission perhaps you could accompany her on her visit to Mrs. Walentowicz's home tomorrow. Miss Stroud's reaction to Mrs. Walentowicz's mental state is most intriguing, and perhaps you can provide a fresh perspective.