Another time Billy heard Rosewater say to a psychiatrist, "I think you guys are going to have to come up with a lot of wonderful new lies, or people just aren't going to want to go on living."
Rosewater doesn't seem to trust his doctors very much. Billy and he are patients in a veterans' hospital, seeking treatment for mental health issues. Rosewater is well-read, mostly science fiction novels. He's obsessed with visions of the future, and yet, in the statement above, he seems fairly fatalistic. It doesn't seem like he wants to see the future.
An hour ago, I realized that I had made a huge mistake. I thought that I was leading a poetry workshop next Thursday. I planned on preparing for it over the weekend. Then, I checked my e-mail this afternoon and had an "Oh, shit!" moment. It's happening tonight.
I had almost a full hour of pure panic. I knew what I wanted to do, but I thought I had a lot more time to think about it. I rushed home, changed my shirt, brushed my teeth, sprayed myself with cologne, scoured my bookshelves, and scribbled some notes in my journal.
I am calmer now. Unlike Rosewater, I am not fatalistic. The future (at least for the next few hours) is going to be filled with poetry and poets and writing. That is, if anybody shows up. It may be a workshop for two--myself and the owner of the Joy Center (an old friend of mine). No more panic. Just an underlying current of tension and self-doubt.
So, basically, it's a normal night for me.
Saint Marty is thankful tonight for unexpected e-mails.