Get right
I needed to get out tonight. What better way to celebrate the fact that you are alive by going dancing. I went out with my friends, The Black Assassin and Cuckoo, alternatively known as dancing fools extraordinaire.
It’s probably a sign that you are getting older when you get back from a club and your knees start to throb. I have to give myself credit – I was wearing three inch boots, so I’m not completely over the hill. I find it frightening to think that in two years I will be a decade older than the minimum age club go-er. Eeek. When that time comes, then those 21 year olds will have been 11 when I was 21. Double eek. The lure of the club scene has changed for me; I have retired from dancing on stages/tables or in cages. I also no longer feel the need to bear strategic patches of skin, to even do my hair or makeup, or hell, to even bother to look cute. I just go to dance, and that’s still so much fun.
Blackbird, fly.
I’ve been in transit all day. I took a plane down to SoCal for my friend’s brother’s funeral and I flew back this morning. It's nearly midnight and I have to say that February 3, 2005 will go down as one of the saddest days in my existence. It is absolutely no fun to go to a funeral, but you do it to show support and kindness to people who are or were important to you. I haven’t seen the people I saw today in 15 years. I wish I could have seen them under happier circumstances. There is something fundamentally wrong with parents burying their children; the world feels like the axis is off. I should have been reuniting with this family for a birth or a wedding or a graduation, not to bury their son.
Tomorrow may rain so I'll follow the Sun
Yesterday my mom called me to tell me that a family friend died. He committed suicide. I was standing right next to the apple bin at Safeway when she told me this. Note to file: you can actually have a semi-nervous breakdown in the fruit and vegetable section at Safeway without anybody noticing you or saying a goddamn thing. Just in case you were wondering. I am angry, because I can't believe that he was so selfish to do this to his family. I am also so sad - sad for his mom, dad, and sister, and so sad for him, that he felt that his life had gotten to the point where he could not face another day. All I can see in my head is a picture of him as a child, a mop full of blonde hair, always tagging along after me and his sister.
Today I discovered how I handle grief: I work my ass off to distract myself from sadness. I've actually known this for a long time, but today, it struck me with such clarity. The sadder I am, the harder I work.
