9:05 p.m. - 03/31/03
fall :: in love with my love song...
I just talked to Shan. Gosh, I miss her. And I just realized that writing that is weird because I'm going to print these out and send them to her, like Julian did once for me, when my computer died (or was murdered by my father; I no longer remember.) But, oh, it's so good to talk to her. It's almost like... She's real. She's real! And I just love talking to her, really talking to her, and hearing the words I've been reading all these months. She sounds so much like someone from RED; she reminds me of (the staff member) Sara. And what's better than a girl who feels homegrown? Not much. For me, anyway. I'd still like to see her feeling better, though. But on the good side, today is better than the weekend and definitely better than Friday. Hooray for a positive trend. And we both miss each other, so we must have a healthy attachment, right? I told her that and she cheered "Yeaaaay." (My mom just walked in; I can feel her wanting to know the source of my small smiles and secretive expressions as I write this. Rarh! You can't know, woman.) But, wow, I have a Shannon. I have such a cool Shannon. And she's going to get better because I won't stand for anything else. I'll force her emigration toward my city first. I'll exchange therapy for one of the parentals for hers. (Which means I'll have to move out soon after, but we can be roommates if I get some allergy meds first, right?) No. She's going to feel better on the East Coast, and I'm going to feel better here. And then? We'll find a way to feel better together more often. I told her she can call me whenever she wants, which she thinks is dangerous. Doesn't know how dangerous I'd be if I had the number. It's probably better that she doesn't know. Mwa! I'm just...better. I feel better than I have all day, and it's weird because she's in such a hard spot, but talking to her still makes me feel good. I hope I didn't hurt her with any of the things I said- like wanting her to be better right this second or telling her about Hampshire... I hate some of what's going on for her, but it still feels good to know it. I don't like not knowing. I don't like being away from her, even if it seems like I'd be used to it. La la la. How much of this relationship can I squeeze into one paragraph, eh? One more thing: Now, I've heard her voice, I want to hug her. I really, really want that.
But, wow, to know someone that even in that much pain and that tough a spot, brings you up a few notches, how great is that? How great is she, to manage that without even realizing it?
Too weird for words: I finished that paragraph and opened an e-mail from the dearling friend that found my journal, and she said in the first paragraph, "You are one of those people who touch so many lives, and I bet you don't even know it." Now isn't that scarily close to what I just described adoring? Yes. The cooler-than-weird part is that I think I am starting to know it. I mean, thinking the admissions staff entirely missed the boat was all but my first response this morning. It was really only delayed, say, a minute or two. And I know I do good things. I know caged and nourish are really good things. And I made a difference with the whole diaryring letter campaign (statistically, almost 40% of the active members quit the ring...not bad, right?) ... I've put some cool rings up myself. (The only one that seems to fall flat is Joanne Greenberg. People don't realize the brilliance, or those who do don't realize there's a ring. I've thought about leaving notes for people who list her as a favorite author but that seems a little too desparate, almost. It's not like all the notes I left for people about caged; those had a purpose. People knowing about caged meant people submitting and people submitting is good...) It's going to turn out really well for me, this life. It's going to turn out really well that I am who I am, and I've stayed with that. I'm trying to stay with it, to move from who I am, instead of just in search of her. And hey, I don't have to be well by the fall now...that's a plus.
I also have a sudden influx of funds saved for the deposit...I plan to keep it saved and add to it. I wouldn't find joy in a shopping spree anyway. It's weird, but I guess I'm ok. Down, somewhat, but only normally. Not unstable or unsafe. To me, security is still a miracle. It feels so new, still, and if it ever doesn't...well...I suppose the best thing to take for granted is a wish. I've wished this for a long time. And I wish more. More will come.
I want to actively work at my attachment with friend-who-found-journal. On an almost-related note, she's working on a play that goes up in N*land in May. I was so certain I didn't want to go back, but I don't know anymore. I don't think I should go back to prove to them how good I am, how wrong they were. I don't think I should go back to return to any old roles. But maybe it would be nice to see some old friends. I sent Said Girl the lyric to "Old Friends" and she loved it. It's actually perfect. It's odd how people at such distances (the past few years) can go through so much together. She and I have done that.
And so I love her, obviously. And I love Shannon, as I said on the phone. And sometimes that's so hard. It's hard for me; it scares me. I've used that word in such bad circumstances, or in such beautiful ones which turned so painful at the end. It scares me to use it again. And at the same time, Shannon isn't Billy, and Said Girl isn't either. You know, in the days since SG signed my guestbook, and I flipped thinking she was Billy, I haven't once taken the time to decide how I felt about it, or how I would have felt. I guess I can't know, totally. It would be awkward. And I don't want it. We'd have a hard road to work through together, and I still don't have the spare energy for that. But then, we had something, and it's hard to overlook that part. It doesn't deserve to be overlooked.
I found a letter from him, other than the one handwritten one. A printed e-mail that's odd in retrospect. I don't feel as bad about what happened with Billy as I feel about what didn't happen with several Neverland people, and I think that's good (that I'd rather go through pain than miss the chance to know someone) and it is still surreal sometimes that "we" ever existed...but then I wouldn't throw away that one handwritten letter. It's like...early astronomical theory. It's like reading through that when knowledge has first progressed- knowing differently, and still remembering how deeply you believed. It's the truth in something that has been technically disproved. There's truth instilled by the pure force of our believing. And I did believe.
God, I sound like the fucking, "clap your hands if you believe in fairies" scene in Peter Pan. I guess I'm a sentimental gal at heart. Anyone surprised...? I didn't think so.
Oh. And speaking of Peter Pan, can someone please just inform me if I'm gay? Can I please have, say, a notorized letter appear at my door, with the information? Can I have like a home kit to test like I would for pregnancy? Is this complete insanity? I'd just really like to know. That whole "I guess on some level, I've always known" (in response to "When did you first discover...? etc) response is making a lot more sense to me than it ever did before. I mean, queer would make such sense...given my life. Given who I've loved, how fiercely, what I've known. All those little incongruous things start to make sense. But when has my life ever made sense? Let's not impose structure onto this just for the sake of that structure. Bah. It's too bad I'm not ready to be in a relationship. Then I could just go schoolgirl over someone and be done with (this set of) questions. Or certain ones.
I said all that, "speaking of Peter Pan" which probably doesn't make much sense, so let me explain that the play Sarah wants to use for the end of the quadruple-play-piece has roots in Peter Pan (a bit), and it also has a girl-girl couple that I was sort of scared to let her see. I do not want to be asked this question before I know the answer; that much I know. I want to tell people, with action or with words, when I know. I don't want the awkwardness of trying to answer on someone else's time.
I'm going to find my circadian rhythm and dance to it, blast it all. I'm going to do this as I see fit. So if it's about time, it's about my time. And yes, I do believe it's about time I felt this way.
chord <--who's going to *stay* asleep tonight, for several consecutive hours
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