...

you can't understand. how could you? --with solid pavement under your feet, surrounded by kind neighbours ready to cheer you or to fall on you, stepping delicately between the butcher and the policeman, in the holy terror of scandal and gallows and lunatic asylums--how can you imagine what particular region of the first ages a man's untrammelled feet may take him into by the way of solitude--utter solitude without a policeman--by the way of silence--utter silence, where no warning voice of a kind neighbour can be heard whispering of public opinion? these little things make all the great difference. when they are gone you must fall back upon your own innate strength, upon your own capacity for faithfulness. of course you may be too much of a fool to go wrong--too dull even to know you are being assaulted by the powers of darkness. i take it, no fool ever made a bargain for his soul with the devil; the fool is too much of a fool, or the devil too much of a devil--i don't know which.

- heart of darkness by joseph conrad

i read this passage last night and it made no sense to me. i happened to read it again today after wiring my dear friend $200 so she could pay a drug debt instead of getting beat up and having her car stolen by whomever she owed. the passage resonated inside my head.

it's been a rough day, and more than a bit disorienting.

this was the friend for whom i quit drinking for a year--the reason i originally started this weblog, in fact.

it's hard. what do you do when a friend calls you in desparation? do you leave her to her own decisions or bail her out? you want to cry out and ask when will it end? you want to remind her about her 7-year-old son and ask if that means anything to her. you feel like everything's been in vain, all effort is futile. she's a drug addict and always will be. no one and nothing can keep her from using except herself.

in the end, you wire the money. you vow never to do it again. you hope and you pray for her and her son.