How are you my love?
I sure wish you were here to do my books for me. After you passed away, I did the best I could to keep the books in order, but I can tell I've done a job bordering on the ca-ca. I'm going to have to hire an accountant because, while I can make out my chicken scratchings, anybody else would just look at them and go "Huh?"
I've decided that I can afford to pay Jenn a little more in the way of salary, but I don't think it's very significant, especially since she has a little girl to care for. I'm going to offer to give her a raise and pay for her baby-sitter, if she'll quit her other job and work for us fill-time. She wants to go to night school, so this may be the best way that I can help her.
The shop's looking a little better. I've replaced all the broken glass, except for the stained, without the help of the insurance company. I've done most of it myself, to keep the cost down.
I fixed the tables that I could and scrap-piled the rest. I've pounded out most of the dents in the espresso machine and bartered out free emcee work and exotic coffees for the repair of it and the cash register.
I've been listening to the Broadway cast recording of Stephen Sondheim's 'Passion.' Lovely score! There's a very evocative line in it: "We pay a price for the things that we deny." It made me think of Eugene...and myself.
The worst part of AIDS, for me, is watching the life drain out of somebody so quickly. Gene was always a jerk, but he had a lot of spirit, even if it was always directed in the wrong ways. To see that disappear in a person's eyes, even in somebody that you don't like very much, is almost too much to bear. People are so selfish they often can't sympathize with another person's misery unless they potentially see themselves in the same state. How long would it take for me to give up?
Keep me in your arms, baby.
Love you.
Me
