why don’t I write anymore?

The internet is so seductive.

Anyway, I’m home.

The musical was fantastic, especially given some of the circumstances.

Oh Facebook Honesty Box, how you beckon. But on the other hand, you actually got some real information out of me and someone else. Relationship improving information.

MSN + webcam = long distance face-making at someone special. Once he gets his ass to Future Shop, we may start Skyping so we can SAY inane things while making faces, instead of just typing them.

Once you start thinking about being profound, it gets much harder.

I don’t even journal a lot anymore.

This must be fixed.

sadness.

I wish this wasn’t the first post in ages, there are so many good things that’ve happened since I last wrote.

The list I was starting in my head after my good friend K. told me to write here again had:
- the first black US President was elected and inaugurated
- I came to Canada for university
- I fell in love with the guy I met the first night of frosh week

But you know what happened?

An absolutely incredible woman died. She was my advisor for a good part of my high school years, and head of the theatre department, where I spent an absurd amount of time. She’s the one who got me to get my shit together on my senior project, she’s the one who helped me grow up. I already missed her, up here over 400 miles away. I’d promised her a longer email a couple of weeks ago, which I never wrote. It was going to be full of things I was so proud to tell her about. I was so excited that I’d get home in time to see the musical, too.

Life sucks, you know?

I think it might be harder for me, too, because I’m alone with this. None of my friends here knew her. There’s one other person in the city (that I know of) who went to my school, and I’m not sure he ever spent time in the theatre department. Not like I did, certainly.

I was talking to a friend last night, and she said: “people can be understanding, but when there’s a death in the family (which the theatre crowd certainly is), you just want to be with your family.” That’s exactly it. I want to hug someone who knows how I feel. I called K. last night, which helps, but I want to be with everyone. I want to choke my way through “Rose” (which we sang before every show) in a group, not alone.

But most of all I want Robin to give me a hug, and that’s never going to happen again.

letter

Dear me,
You can do this, okay? You’re a big girl, and you’ve been handling it so far. You’re not going to let this distract you from dance concert, or academics, right? You can get through this if you try.
You’re not quite seventeen and half, you have so much life ahead of you (I hope), he’s just one person.
I promise you you won’t die over this.
Love, me

huh.

Last night I was up far too late working, after pulling an all-nighter the previous night.

I had way to many friends IMing me sternly ordering me to go to bed, but what actually worked was this . . .

(12:44:12 AM) [me]: sweet dreams
(12:44:24 AM) [him]: you too, and I hope you go to bed eventually… >.<

And I’m too tired to write anything more.

two haikus and a tanka

 it’s nice that you care
but priorities get fucked
sometimes sleep comes last

hypocrite - you are
but I love you anyway
thank you, sweet - thank you

when we hug I think
you feel so thin - breakable
but still you feel strong
do you fear I’d break too?  don’t -
I can’t break me when I try

All ’bout different people, if you were wondering.