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12:05 p.m. - 03/24/02
is that all there is? then let's keep dancing...
Weird weekend. Look out for short sentences. I'm having trouble remembering that Tracy is gone. I guess it isn't important to think about that all the time, but it still bothers me when I can't get it through my head that she's gone. I really don't believe in the "stages of grief"...I think they're more like faces on dice, cast at any given time. It may be three months (holy shit) but it's still just as probable to find me in denial as it is to find me crying. Or numb. Or...yeah.

I'm surprised by the odd places comfort sprouts from. I've only read one book that is actually about the grief process, and it hasn't comforted me half as much as reading Neil Gaiman, or even Operating Instructions, which I finally indulged in yesterday. Anne Lamott is fricking amazing. There's one part where she talks about life as a thread and how she always hoped that the threads of her son and her friend would be longer than hers, but when her friend developed cancer, she started to wonder if perhaps, the friend (Pammy's) thread wasn't being used to create some gorgeous detail...like the extra thread was put into crafting a leaf and a bud and a blossom. It's been a long while since I tried my hand at embroidery but that stuck with me. I have a little collection in my heart, a dusty box of words and images that have calmed me...though I guess nothing fully calms it.

Death isn't fair either.

Somehow between reading OI, walking by the lake, and going to bed, I managed to get very worked up for no apparent reason. I was feeling worthless again. (I really should develop a new set of problems; these old ones are such bores.) I'm not sure how I'm going to have a good conversation with Harriet tomorrow. I've gone over and over it in my head, trying to determine what I need to say, and I simply can't construct coherent thoughts. I guess I'll have to wing it, which could be thoroughly disappointing, even if it's what most people do on a daily basis. Most people do not write scripts in their head, play with words and inflections, trying to determine the best way to get their point across. The OC population aside, most people just focus on the conversation when they're having it. Anyway, it's on my mind and it's bothering me, as it was yesterday. I tried to write my way through it (longhand) but didn't get very far. Started crying. Lay still for awhile. Came downstairs and scared Mom (I think she thought I was going to binge)...then I got on IM and was eased a little by Linds...thank God she was there. I don't know how to explain the dichotomy that plays around in my head. It's as if I either have to alter the world or abandon it. If I can't be a heroine, I can't be period. It's shit.

And of course, what's the point of working so desperately to save my life if it's going to be such a tiny offering to the timescape?

*sigh* So I talked with Lindsey, and she told me she loved me and we'd make it through to that someday (where there's a place for us...peace, quiet, open air, etc) and I felt calm enough to go upstairs and cry for awhile. I ended up calling RED (which is pretty bizarre considering I called them yesterday, and if I'd been thinking I would have remembered that calling two days in a row and being upset would most likely make me feel like shit), but fortunately, I didn't think, and it turned out well. I talked to Leah (Leah!) for the first time since I left, and it was nice. She's so laid-back and focused at the same time; it's hard to explain. It's like "everything is always hard, but everything is always ok, so you're going to be fine." She's of the opinion that I'm going to be famous as well. Jesus, I bet they have a staff pool on when I'm going to break into the media. I wish I could turn the tables and throw the spotlight their way. If I *do* end up with Papparazi on me, I might do some sort of feature on my life-altering experience at RED...that way I can make them all eat their words about how I can handle being famous.

Leah was very cool, and she told me she's proud of me about the seven months, that that is really amazing...which it is. But it was cool to have her say she's proud of me on a night I wasn't doing well. And also she asked how things were and when I told her really cool things (like that my sister held auditions for a new play of mine yesterday), she didn't assume I was happy about them. Which proves that she knows me. I have an uncanny ability to turn perfectly neutral or even positive things into problems.

It's a gift. I think.

Anyway, I'm doing ok today. Tired but not so destroyed as yesterday when I nearly threw those whole seven months out the window. Tired but alive and ready for another lazy day of reading. Something short, though, because if I'm lucky my teacher is bringing me books (from her own collection! so nice) tomorrow.

I'm desperate to read We Were The Mulvaneys...I want to know what all the Joyce Carol Oates hubbub is about. Why everyone's so fussy over her.

This sentence is just here because the last paragraph didn't feel like a good ending.

chord

12:05 p.m. - 03/24/02
is that all there is? then let's keep dancing...
Weird weekend. Look out for short sentences. I'm having trouble remembering that Tracy is gone. I guess it isn't important to think about that all the time, but it still bothers me when I can't get it through my head that she's gone. I really don't believe in the "stages of grief"...I think they're more like faces on dice, cast at any given time. It may be three months (holy shit) but it's still just as probable to find me in denial as it is to find me crying. Or numb. Or...yeah.

I'm surprised by the odd places comfort sprouts from. I've only read one book that is actually about the grief process, and it hasn't comforted me half as much as reading Neil Gaiman, or even Operating Instructions, which I finally indulged in yesterday. Anne Lamott is fricking amazing. There's one part where she talks about life as a thread and how she always hoped that the threads of her son and her friend would be longer than hers, but when her friend developed cancer, she started to wonder if perhaps, the friend (Pammy's) thread wasn't being used to create some gorgeous detail...like the extra thread was put into crafting a leaf and a bud and a blossom. It's been a long while since I tried my hand at embroidery but that stuck with me. I have a little collection in my heart, a dusty box of words and images that have calmed me...though I guess nothing fully calms it.

Death isn't fair either.

Somehow between reading OI, walking by the lake, and going to bed, I managed to get very worked up for no apparent reason. I was feeling worthless again. (I really should develop a new set of problems; these old ones are such bores.) I'm not sure how I'm going to have a good conversation with Harriet tomorrow. I've gone over and over it in my head, trying to determine what I need to say, and I simply can't construct coherent thoughts. I guess I'll have to wing it, which could be thoroughly disappointing, even if it's what most people do on a daily basis. Most people do not write scripts in their head, play with words and inflections, trying to determine the best way to get their point across. The OC population aside, most people just focus on the conversation when they're having it. Anyway, it's on my mind and it's bothering me, as it was yesterday. I tried to write my way through it (longhand) but didn't get very far. Started crying. Lay still for awhile. Came downstairs and scared Mom (I think she thought I was going to binge)...then I got on IM and was eased a little by Linds...thank God she was there. I don't know how to explain the dichotomy that plays around in my head. It's as if I either have to alter the world or abandon it. If I can't be a heroine, I can't be period. It's shit.

And of course, what's the point of working so desperately to save my life if it's going to be such a tiny offering to the timescape?

*sigh* So I talked with Lindsey, and she told me she loved me and we'd make it through to that someday (where there's a place for us...peace, quiet, open air, etc) and I felt calm enough to go upstairs and cry for awhile. I ended up calling RED (which is pretty bizarre considering I called them yesterday, and if I'd been thinking I would have remembered that calling two days in a row and being upset would most likely make me feel like shit), but fortunately, I didn't think, and it turned out well. I talked to Leah (Leah!) for the first time since I left, and it was nice. She's so laid-back and focused at the same time; it's hard to explain. It's like "everything is always hard, but everything is always ok, so you're going to be fine." She's of the opinion that I'm going to be famous as well. Jesus, I bet they have a staff pool on when I'm going to break into the media. I wish I could turn the tables and throw the spotlight their way. If I *do* end up with Papparazi on me, I might do some sort of feature on my life-altering experience at RED...that way I can make them all eat their words about how I can handle being famous.

Leah was very cool, and she told me she's proud of me about the seven months, that that is really amazing...which it is. But it was cool to have her say she's proud of me on a night I wasn't doing well. And also she asked how things were and when I told her really cool things (like that my sister held auditions for a new play of mine yesterday), she didn't assume I was happy about them. Which proves that she knows me. I have an uncanny ability to turn perfectly neutral or even positive things into problems.

It's a gift. I think.

Anyway, I'm doing ok today. Tired but not so destroyed as yesterday when I nearly threw those whole seven months out the window. Tired but alive and ready for another lazy day of reading. Something short, though, because if I'm lucky my teacher is bringing me books (from her own collection! so nice) tomorrow.

I'm desperate to read We Were The Mulvaneys...I want to know what all the Joyce Carol Oates hubbub is about. Why everyone's so fussy over her.

This sentence is just here because the last paragraph didn't feel like a good ending.

chord

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