Status Updates From Verscheurde stilte : de dag...

I am disheartened by the durability of Cheever’s self-concealment. Age 60, after a decade of journaling, and his pages still express incredulity at his wife and children turning their back against his mawkish, alcoholic outbursts. I want, for myself, journaling to be a cure for split-consciousness but no cigar for Cheever.

"Yesterday my hands shook so that I could not type. In the morning I drank half a bottle of Courvoisier, there being nothing else in the house. In the afternoon I drank more than half a bottle of Bushmills. Early to bed without another drink, but there wasn’t much left."

“I dream that my face appears on a postage stamp.”

Alcoholism is a terrible thing (in writers, particularly).