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Can’t believe it’s been one month and two days. Feels a second and feels like forever since Sept 17th. It’s 3:40pm and I cannot wait – cannot WAIT – until it’s late enough for me to leave. I just feel drained, wiped out, ready, so ready to call it a week and just not be here anymore. I sometimes just wonder why it matters though – I try, try, try to do crap that, when it’s all said and done, just really doesn’t matter.

Does it matter that we live in a house or an apt? Does it matter when we have a baby? I’ll be 30 years old in two months and one week. Does it matter? If I have a baby next year, which means that I would have to get pregnant in early 2008, that means that I’ll be 35 when my baby goes to kindergarten, 43 when he/she becomes a teenager, 48 at a high school graduation, and 52 at a college graduation. Older than Mama was when she died. Sue said something yesterday that I’ve been thinking about… she might not want to have kids because there’s a really good chance that one (or more) of us is going to get breast cancer, and then we’ll die and put our kids through the devastating pain of losing their mother. Sounds pessimistic, but it’s an excellent point. What if I get breast cancer? What if Jennifer or Sue get breast cancer? What if one or more of us die, and leaves the other two, or even one, sister to continue on alone? I would kill myself. Really, I would. Maybe not with a bullet or a bottle of pills, but I would kill myself emotionally and the physical would follow. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to lose Jennifer or Sue – not after losing Mama. If couldn’t hurt worse, but it would hurt even deeper, because Mama’s absence has already created such a chasm, a yawning hole, that there’s really nothing left. What would happen to us if that happened? And I tell myself not to think about it, but what makes it so unthinkable? What makes it more or less likely to happen? Denying something doesn’t make it disappear – god knows that if that were the case, Mama would still be here and in perfect health. There’s really no guarantee that I’ll make it past my 50th birthday, or even my 40th. And the thought occurs to me that surely our family wouldn’t be hit twice – kind of like lightening – we’ve had our share, so surely God wouldn’t take another of us. But what the hell kind of logic is that? Obviously, life isn’t fair, and obviously we aren’t dealt the cards we deserve or that we’ve earned. Bouquets of flowers are handed to the miserable, evil people and a pile of shit lands on the good ones. So it’s really a possibility that one of us is going to leave. And even though the thought of seeing Mama is fabulous, it would suck beyond comprehension for the one(s) who are left behind.

The world just isn’t a safe place. No one is safe – there are evil, bad forces at work, and if you don’t get hit by a car or raped and killed by a crazy, lunatic, then cancer will eat you from the inside. Why wouldn’t it? There’s no giant force protecting us from death or pain… there’s no point in praying for help or for strength or for protection. I know I sound like a negative, hopeless person, but I’m not trying to be… I’m just being realistic.

So it’s almost like once you realize how much the world sucks, then you just accept and try to make the best of it. Try to make some kind of difference for someone, or try to grasp as much happiness as you can in the small window that you’re given. And I guess that’s where buying a house, and having a baby, and getting married come into play. Ultimately, in the big scheme of things (if there even is a scheme), it doesn’t matter whether you’re happy or not – things still happen to you, life still happens to you, and you have no control. But if you’ve gotta be here until it’s your time to die, then you might as well make the best of it. Get married, have a baby, buy a house, drive a fun car, put in a pool, and be the best parent/spouse/house remodeler that you can possibly be. Ultimately it doesn’t matter – that’s true. But short-term, it’s a hell of a lot more fun.

Fun. That’s an interesting word. It’s really one of those all-purpose words that don’t mean anything. Or it means everything – anything you want it to mean. Fun is what we had in the Everglades when we flew over the water in a strange, little boat. Fun is what we had in Virginia during our summer vacation when we climbed up and put pennies on the railroad tracks and waited impatiently for the train to come. Fun is what I had under the pine trees as a little girl, making little 20-room houses out of needles and knowing that my mama, my whole world, was just inside the house, only a scream away. Fun is what we had on our fall picnics, although there were so many times that we didn’t realize it. Fun. I’m not having fun now. I have really sucky days, less sucky days, and the suckiest days, but I’m pretty sure that none of the above can be classified as fun. What will fun be now? Fun can never mean what it used to mean… it will never be the same. When I say “it was fun” now, there’s an asterisk with a disclaimer at the bottom of my thought… for example:

“It was fun” *

[Footnote]
*Relatively speaking – Mama’s still dead and my life still has a gaping hole in it. But other than that, it was ok.

So please know that when I use the word “fun” (which I don’t really use right now, but I might again at some point), that I don’t mean “FUN-FUN.” The Everglades, summer vacation in Virginia, pine needle houses, fall picnics – those were FUN-FUN. What I have now is a pale, muted, version of that – so dissimilar that it really shouldn’t even have the same word.

Oh yeah, I’m just a ray of sunshine today.

And for the updates on life events:

  • Jennifer and I are joining Weight Watchers next Tuesday.
  • Susanna leaves for CA next Wednesday.
  • Sue and I (and maybe/hopefully Jennifer) are going to Toccoa tomorrow morning to get Sue’s tattoo. If this doesn’t elicit a response out of Mama, I honestly don’t know what will.

Ok, that’s all the joy I have to share for now. But never fear, the joy(less) fairy is here, and I have lots more where that came from.

Good god, I think I’m going crazy.

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