Edward Adrift

she looked young and vibrant and ambulatory (I love the word “ambulatory”). She said, “You’re sweet, Edward,” but I wasn’t trying to be. She really does look good, or at least she did on Tuesday, April 26, which was the last time I saw her. It would be conjecture to say what she looks like now. In any case, I have no way of knowing whether her husband is healthy, as I have never met him. Maybe he’s about to die. Maybe Dr. Buckley’s haste is warranted.
    Before Dr. Buckley and I parted ways, we had five joint sessions with Dr. Bryan Thomsen. Dr. Buckley said this would allow me and Dr. Bryan Thomsen to “ease into” a patient-doctor relationship. She said that she was sure we would “hit it off” and that Dr. Bryan Thomsen, being more my age, might even relate to me in a way that she could not. I had my doubts about this, because I never saw any evidence that the age gap between me and Dr. Buckley was an impediment (I love the word “impediment”), but I told her that I would try.
    I’ve been right so far in my suspicions about Dr. Bryan Thomsen. He’s been a poor substitute for Dr. Buckley. Most of the time, that doesn’t bother me, but it sure does right now.

    Unable to sleep because I keep touching the part of my face that hurts, I decide to watch
Adam-12
on my phone. I am so far behind. I have not been good about watching this show daily like I used to do with
Dragnet
. But I’m trying to hang in there. Dr. Buckley and I worked diligently to break my destructive compulsions while properly channeling those that brought balance to my life, like the daily complaint letter I used to write. But in this shitburger of a year, it seems that many of my routines have been shattered.I hope that reestablishing a balance with my show watching will help settle me down. Hope, of course, is fleeting and unpredictable. I’d rather have facts.
    I’m watching the twenty-second episode of the first season, called “Log 152: A Dead Cop Can’t Help Anybody.” I should have watched it two days ago, but I fell asleep, and then the excitement of planning my trip overtook me.
    It has taken me a while to figure out things about
Adam-12
, and while I still think it is vastly inferior to
Dragnet
, I’m starting to warm up to it. Neither Officer Pete Malloy nor Officer Jim Reed is as wise and logical as Sergeant Joe Friday, but between the two of them, they make almost the perfect cop. Malloy is older and more crotchety (I love the word “crotchety”), while Reed is a young hotshot. Their respective attributes—wisdom and reserve, youth and strength—serve them well as they tackle crime in the streets of Los Angeles.
    I think I will keep going with this series.

    After eating a grilled chicken dinner at Perkins, I take a walk around the immediate area. It’s a nondescript place close to the interstate. Tomorrow morning, in fact, I’ll have to go west for 6.6 miles farther on Interstate 90 to get to Interstate 15 South, which will carry me into Idaho.
    The sky has gone dark. While the weather is variable, the time of sunset is not. We have not yet reached the winter solstice, when the stretches of daylight will begin growing longer. The sun was down before 5:00 p.m. I pull my coat up to cover my ears. It’s quite cold here—much colder than it is back home in Billings.
    I’m adrift. That’s the feeling I’ve had since setting out today—and, really, for much of this shitburger of a year—and I’ve finally found the word to describe that feeling. My home is 223 miles behind me, and my destination is still 463.5 miles away. I don’t feel comfortable here, my feelings are still badly hurt over getting punched, and I’m nervous about seeing Donna and Victor and Kyle again. That seems strange to me. If you’d asked me on any of the 189 days since they moved whether I’d like to see them, I would have jumped up excitedly and said, “Yes, please, that would be very nice.”
    Now I’m about twenty-four hours away, and I feel scared.
    That flummoxes me. It’s hard to know how much of that feeling is because I’ll be seeing my friends again and how much is because of everything else. I don’t like not knowing things.

TECHNICALLY SUNDAY, DECEMBER 11, 2011
    I wake up at 2:37 a.m., and I’m discombobulated (I love the word “discombobulated”) and short of breath. As my eyes adjust to the absence of light, I stop fighting for air, and my heart rate slows. I remember now where I am.
    I had a weird