So here I am. Waiting. They said I could spend the night in the ICU. Watching Dean breathe - just the sort of wild and crazy fun that I wanted on a Friday night. Or is it Thursday? But I guess someone's got to keep an eye on the half-wit. I mean, look what happened the last time I took my eyes off him.

I tried calling Ellen. Tried calling Bobby too. Left messages. I don't know why. It just seems like - with Dad gone, and so many people missing or dead - we've got to [stay in touch] stick together. [I don't know...]

I've been thinking about Ellen's letter, about what she [said] wrote and all the crap that's been in my head lately. (Nothing else to do in here but think, unless you count watching Dean sleep.)

Like she said, demons LIE. It seems like we know this intellectually, me and Dean, but when it comes into putting it into actual practice, we keep forgetting.

What demons tell us ... we sometimes treat it as if it's our true feelings without the social filter in place. Like the demons strip away our defenses and dig out how we REALLY feel, like some kind of ... of supernatural psychiatrists or something.

But that's not quite right. I mean, all that ugly stuff is in there somewhere, it's true. Demons spin their lies out of real, solid materials. But everybody's got stuff in their heads that's not very pretty. Jealousy, resentment, bitterness, self-doubt. Nobody's all sweetness and light all the time - at least, nobody I ever met. And there's nobody who doesn't spend some time doubting themselves and others. It doesn't mean that's the sum total of your existence.