Yesterday, I wound up finding out that a friend of mine died this past weekend. I thought, okay, I can handle this. It hurt, but loss does that. I managed to mostly go numb, whether that was because of the shock or just my own standard emotional reaction, I'm not sure. Either way, it helped for the short term. What can I say, I thought I'd be able to shove everything to the side because, hey, what else could happen?

Sometime around 6 or 6:30 this evening, I got a call from TW, aka the Parental figure in my life, saying that my grandmother was dying. About an hour later, while I was in an area with no signal, I missed a call and wound up listening to a phone call saying that she had finally passed. Now, I think I'm pushing my sort of numbness to it's breaking point. To those of you who knew me, you know that I groaned, griped, complained, and flat out bitched, about my life at home. Know that through all of this, I did love the woman like a mother. Well, over the past month and a half roughly, she'd pretty much refused to speak to speak to me because I made the conscious decision not to go home. Now, she spoke when there was no one else there to answer the phone, but it was mostly in one or two words. Nothing much.

So now, after all of this, I'm not sure how I feel. I don't know what to feel. When this sort of shocked numbness wears off, which I think I can feel it doing, I don't know how I'm going to react. Right now, I've got the standard what's going to happen now, but that is mainly because of what's going to the happen to the rest of my family. TW had spent the past few years taking care of her, helping her as she grew worse physically. When he called, he was broken. Now, he's not been the most emotionally stable of people, but he was never one to cry or express grief. He was more comfortable with anger, and that's how I was comfortable with him.

But right now, we're all trying to figure out what to do about contacting my aunt and uncle. I've tried, My grandmother's sister has tried. I might try again once this is posted.

Either way, I just really needed to get all of that out.

Of all the people in all the world, I never thought he'd be the first of us lost.

Earlier today, while I was on my lunch hour, I wound up checking facebook and found out that a friend very dear to both JB and myself had died earlier this week. He'd been over in Japan for six months, but we still both managed to talk to him whenever we had the chance.

I sometimes joked that he was going to die of cirrhosis before he was thirty. I think I would have preferred that sort of sentence. At least then, we would have seen it coming. Instead, he died with a less than standard amount of alcohol in his system. I think the only reason I'm not as torn up about this as I could be is because I know he was doing something he loved -- living.

He'll be greatly missed and never forgotten.

Rest in Peace, B.

I want to talk. I want to say something. Anything. I want some sound to come out of my mouth, but no matter how I try, nothing. Not a squeak, not a grunt, not a cry. I can feel the tears pricking at my eyes, burning them with not even boiling heat, and I can't do anything about them. They won't fall. They just sit there, building up in the ducts. This sort of behavior isn't healthy. Never has been really.


Then again, this is behavior I've resorted to since I was young. Hold in everything until sick. Seems the sickness has taken on a new form. Hopefully it's going to pass. I mean, I have a job I need to worry about. I have classes I need to worry about. I can't go without speaking. Especially with this semester.


Maybe I am just worrying too much. Perhaps I just need to calm myself down. Perhaps I should just try to ignore the things that are going on around me for the most part. Bury myself in my own noise. My laptop speakers and my TV. My writing and my life. If there was anyway to do that without completely shutting myself off, I'd be happy, but for now, that seems like the only idea feasible.


Wish me luck if not some sheer sense of hope.

Not Quite Home

You'd think that I'd be tired of doing dishes almost every day of the week. In all truth, I honestly am. If I didn't hate the idea of everything in the apartment looking absolutely horrible and to the point that I look like a lazy fucking slob, I'd probably let the things sit in the sink until the roommates who haven't touched the dishwasher in over a MONTH AND A HALF did them. I can't do that though. I take one look at the sink and I feel horrible guilty for every single dish in there. I don't know why I feel this way, I just do.


I wish I had enough of a proverbial backbone to tell them to get off of their ends and do the blasted things, or to even tell them to take out the garbage. They've left garbage piled up since before the first weekend of December for us to take out, and since my one tolerable roommate left before they did fully expecting them to take out their own trash, I wound up being the one to take out their nasty garbage.


Now, I know that I'm not the most... motivated person on the face of the planet, but at least I know when to do dishes and take out the garbage. I know when to clean up after myself. Too bad not all college students have to learn this lesson before living in apartments.