I have solitude no longer. I’ve propped the wheelhouse door open, and inside, in the gloom, I can just make her out, slumbering fitfully on my pallet. I will tell all. But now I feel it’s time for a brief sketch of the ways I’ve spent my diuturnity. At first, for a short time after I learnt of my fate, though in hiding, I attempted, so far as possible, to live in company, as I had before, forming friendships, taking lovers, staying in contact with my family, and so forth. But it proved too difficult. After a while, people would find it suspect I didn’t age, and the deaths of the very few I could take into my confidence caused great heartache; it’s hard to know you’ll outlive everyone you love. Finally, I resolved my life should be solitary and sought solace in learning, skills. But given endless life there’s no sense of accomplishment in mastery. Still, reading and playing musical instruments went on affording me some distraction. For a time, I was also still quickened by wallowing in the fleshly, and, wary of forming any attachments, took my pleasures with prostitutes.
