I was sitting in the right side of the back seat of a car which my father was driving. My mother was sitting next to me on my left. Some other people were also in the car; we were all returning from a trip, headed back to Waco, where we were all living. We had been gone for about 10 days and I was exhausted, glad we were almost back in Waco. I could hardly believe I had just wasted 10 days by taking off on a trip with my parents; but I had, so I just needed to accept it.

We were now only 30-40 kilometers from Waco, still out in the country, with fields stretching out in all directions. We passed an area with many machines in the fields and I asked my father if he knew what was going on in the fields. When he responded, at first I couldn't understand what he had said. Finally, however, I realized he was saying that molasses was being harvested in the field. I was impressed by what I saw – so many people working in the fields and so much effort going into the production of molasses.

Corn was obviously being raised in the fields; large conveyer machines were lifting the ears of corn up into tall buildings which looked something like silos. A couple women were carrying ears of corn away from the area. I thought about how the women must have come there to get the corn, and how they would then carry the corn home and cook it. Society had become so industrialized; people no longer went to the fields to pick corn; all the picking was now done by machines. Still, people needed to work doing some things, such as these women who were coming to get the corn, taking it home, and cooking it. This made me think of myself, and how I did practically no work. In fact, my life had become quite stagnant; I didn't even like to cook.

Besides not working, I began thinking that other things were wrong with my life. One aspect of this overall problem was that nobody knew who I really was – I had successfully been able to conceal who I really was. Even Donna didn't know me. For example, Donna was unaware that I had actually murdered several people in my life; nor was she aware that I was regularly having sex with my own mother.

Having sex with my own mother seemed like one of the more bizarre parts of my life. About every 10 days my mother and I would have sex together. In my mind I pictured myself having sex with my mother – how strange – and nobody knew. The secret was just between my mother and me; we had been successful in keeping it from everyone.

It seemed as if there were some other equally disturbing parts of my life which no one knew about, which I had successfully kept secret. But now actions like killing people and going to bed with my mother were beginning to take their toll, and I was beginning to wish I could actually do something worthwhile with my life. However, I realized going on these long trips with my parents didn't help and I would be glad when we finally returned to Waco.

My father was driving a new car which he had recently bought; he had wanted to try it out to see how fast it would go. Several times he sped up quite fast, frightening me every time. When we finally came to a long downward slopping section of new highway, he started going so fast I thought surely he would wreck; I snapped on my seat belt which I hadn't been wearing up until then. Finally he slowed back down to the normal speed.

Once I was able to relax again, we were passing a golf course on our right. A blond-haired fellow (about 20 years old) was on the golf course. This fellow wasn't doing anything with his life either except playing golf. But even that was better than what I did with my life, which was practically nothing except for the bizarre things which I had done.

A young boy was riding a skate board on the sidewalk right beside the road along the golf course. He was going as fast as we were; if he fell, he could tumble into the road and we would run over him. Finally he skated up to his mother and stopped. The mother looked shocked and relived that he hadn't fallen and been killed.

We seemed to be driving along the top of a ridge; suddenly I could see Waco in the valley below us. The town was picturesque and seemed surrounded by mountains. Although I had lived in Waco, I had never had a good view of it, especially from this vantage point. The town looked quite pleasant.

The mountain on the other side of the town was steep, almost a perpendicular cliff. I was surprised to see two wooden houses built right into the side of the mountain, as if in recesses in the cliff. How could the occupants even reach the houses? Perhaps helicopters were used. I pointed the houses out to my father and my mother.

As we proceeded down the hill toward the town, I continued to think that I needed direction in my life. I wasn't even sure where I was going to be living. It seemed that in addition to staying in Waco, I had also been staying in another state. I felt divided, as if I hadn't really settled down in either state, and I didn't know which state to choose.

These thoughts brought Ross Perot to my mind. I recalled that when Perot had been growing up, he had lived in Texarkana, a town which straddled the border of Texas and Arkansas. Perot must have had to make a decision at some point to either go to Texas or Arkansas. And that was somewhat how I felt, as if I were split somehow.

I also recalled having recently read something by Perot about how to succeed in life. Perot had listed several rules of success which a person should follow. For example, Perot had said that a person should start at least two businesses and fail at the businesses. Perot had illustrated this principle with events from his personal life. He had said that he had started a business in New England and had failed at it. Then he had started a second business, a restaurant which had served seafood which had to be cut up by the clients before the clients could eat the food. The restaurant had also failed. Perot had then started yet a third business, another restaurant, in which the seafood was sold in sandwiches so the clients didn't have to cut it up. This business had turned out to be a great success.

Maybe the idea of failing twice before achieving success had some merit to it. The principle seemed that even though someone might fail at something, he should still keep going, still keep at it. Even though a person failed, if he simply didn't give up, he could eventually succeed.

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