Hello again, neglected journal,
I smile as I write this. For I know others will read it. When I'm gone to the Void. Or perhaps as I languish in a prison cell somewhere.
Fine then. Read away! And laugh - if it is in your nature - at my foolishness and my aching joints. Does it please you to know that even walking is a chore? But I am too proud to use a cane! I can hear my bones protest with every step. A most unpleasant grinding nose that follows me wherever I go.
Is it amusing to know that my eyes can barely see this page? Or that my hand trembles as I hold the pen?
Then laugh! Yes, the once great Sokolov is now just a tired old bag of bones. My meals are brought to me! Soon someone will have to hold the spoon lest I starve!
I find it nearly impossible to paint and even more difficult to urinate. So laugh!
But then pause in your glee, and take a moment to realize this: The same fate awaits you, my friend, should you be smart enough and lucky enough, to live as long as I have!