Greg came in the morning to ask me to supper. I hadn’t seen Greg since the beginning of the year because we’d both been preoccupied by other people. I asked if John could come. I didn’t know how much Greg knew of John who was nervous. It semed Greg knew only John had been visiting me from prison. I was therefore surprised to hear John say he hadn’t gone back and wasn’t surprised Greg picked him up on that. This allowed me to expatiate, a little too much on the giving up of the heroin and stealing. John got up to go home. “I’ve upset him.”
He accused me of putting him down. I said he shouldn’t’ve been doing what put him down if mentioning it did. Giving up heroin and shop-lifting were achievements. Greg hadn’t known, I contended, until he, John, had implied what else there was to be known. John said I hadn’t noticed but Greg had been going on at him, had known, and he, John, was only being honest as I’d advised, “It was a mistake,” for him to have gone that is. “There’s only the one way to end this,” he meant by suicide. I rebutted that: his finding a job and a bolthole entailed a perfectly viable life for him on the basis of his chosen premiss for it, of not going back to prison.
John worries about me after the fall. I don’t worry though my head be heavy.