Sunday, 15 June 2003. Father’s Day has become a traditional day of mourning for me. A day which signifies all the things which are wrong about my life:
“Approaching middle-age and having the equivalent of a man released from prison after some thirty odd years does not induce paternal feelings I would care to write about, much less celebrate.
“What is my life except perpetual loneliness and [frequent] provocation? What is my life except the constant longing for things other [men] take for granted? What is my life, the purpose and meaning of it, except that it was meant to be spent on a life-term in prison and not in the arms of a loving wife and mother of my child?
“I am not supposed to be here in Houston. I wasn’t supposed to make it this far to see all things come full-circle like this. To see the purpose behind the years of suffering and the meaning behind all the most recent years of [psychological torture]. To see that my final destination was marked Huntsville opposite Lake Livingston: That there was to be a Leggett and a Bush and even a ‘city by the bay.’ It is a remarkable experience coming full-circle.”
[Continued] Another week is beginning. What I will do with it I haven’t been able to decide yet but time is not being wasted since I spend most days doing important research on boatbuilding and seamanship. I have been able to complete two books a week and, at this rate, I can have the “free time” to go looking for work next week since I will need fewer and fewer hours of research time.
After the 22nd of this month will be the perfect time to begin making my appointed rounds at the Human Services and TWC [Texas Workforce Commission] offices. [By then,] I will be up from Brownsville and will, finally, have all my pieces in place: My mail box paid for and all my things out of storage for the first time in two whole years.
What’s more, I will have the plans, patterns, books and documents on my desk for the first time also. Then again, maybe not. In any event, I can at least expect to begin construction in earnest by the first of September. I can begin constructing the mold – assembling the wood pieces needed, little by little, to construct the hull of the boat.