Thursday morn

Up early, off to my Gambler's Anonymous meeting. I go twice a week. I chair for the first time but I'm not really nervous. Couldn't do it a year ago but now I'm alright with it. Things go well. Walking home I check on the bomb explosion in Times Square. Rumor has it --a pipe bomber on a bike. He hit the Army Recruiting station. Such is life in Times Square. The explosion woke me--it seemed long--I thought it strange to have thunder in March. The US Army. One could make the argument that it saved my life--it got me into writing. I was a correspondent my last year and a half, a paratrooper before that. I, bipolar even then, alternated between rage and goodness. I wrote very well--I am a college grad--but my bouts with rage got me into trouble, especially in the paratroops. Enough on me, I turn to my last stay in a mental ward, and to Gary, who was a fellow patient.

Gary was a Special Forces Vietnam vet. He claimed many kills, mostly while in the service. He first went insane his third tour in Nam. He was testing a new super high velocity rifle, one that featured spinning bullets theat would tear whoever they hit apart. Gary positioned himself along a popular trail, shooting all that came alone just to see their pieces fly. Enough. I rest. Me, although I almost jumped into Cuba never hurt anyone, even while insane.