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6:00 p.m. - 04/10/02
no hablo ingl�s.
another entry better off not posted

I am drowning in my stream of consciousness. The last thing I want to do is be another tragic heroine (i.e. Juliet to her Romeo, and you already followed the implication to Ophelia)�damn this. I am not meek and pale-skinned; I have gotten through hell and come back again (to somewhere new) so don�t be giving me that little wrist-to-forehead-suicidal cue: don�t be handing me the knife; Jenna drank the poison, now I�m gone. These days a girl can handle things (can�t she?) these days the pain doesn�t last as long, and when it does, I last along with it. I can handle this, I said, I can handle this, I said I will handle this- please leave me alone. And what is it about grief that we fall off the face of the world, that we say, no one could possibly understand, I don�t want you pretending, please don�t close that door�what is it about grief that just when we think we can�t possibly feel alone for one moment more, we�re sending the nearest person who could understand away? and how did you end up with your knees kneeling at a church or city hall, how did an eighteen-year-old get pulled into that little lifelong brawl (well, for the unlucky 40% anyway)�you know when you called, I heard her say �and who may I ask� and I thought dear God Jenna has come home to me; I don�t mean to be rude saying it was only you, but did you hear through the phone wire the way my stomach turned when all of a sudden you were saying Tracy�s name aloud, and even though it�s been five months since someone (Sara) was able to memoryze with me, I was ill at the idea of you grieving; I put up my defenses. It�s impossible any of you know. And what makes me so damn special that I display a grief deeper than anyone else shows? It isn�t true, I know it�s not, but it isn�t fair that hearing you on the other end of the phone � you do know she isn�t just a bit of small talk, don�t you? you do remember she was real � and I remember the look in your eyes the day we heard you screaming and realized, holy shit that Dixie girl can FEEL, so don�t think I�m assuming you�re pretending, I know better than judgment now and then, but tell me, how the hell I�m supposed to admit to myself that the world is spinning out of my control, and maybe it will be happier that way?

Jenna see Juliet is no longer your humble servant, but it isn�t her choice to take that train to Splitsville. Damn you Mary, why pretend it was more than it was?

...

Translation:

Dixie, 18, has been married for two days, and I am beating myself over the head to remember that people make decisions on their own, and it is not my job, my right, or my responsibility to interfere, and who knows? maybe she�ll be happy, and it�s not like it changes my role in her life, so do I care? (yes, it changes everything. fuckmotherfuck.)

Jenna...to call or not to call.

And when Dixie speaks of Tracy I implode. (Oh, wouldn�t it be easier if I had just spoke in sentences that were readable, to begin with? when have I ever chosen the less complicated route?)

chord

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