05 October 2001
I put the mp3s on random and what comes on first.
377. Tori Amos\God
So much stuff running through my head, one of the funniest is how all these religious people-- I mean all religions, not just us Western lovelies-- who know exactly what God wants. I mean, seriously, do they really know? I claim to know My Goddess, but sometimes even letters get lost in the mail. Come on guys, get real. If God is so great why is He making you hate someone? Sure, he made us in his image, but there's a reason why he gave us free will, remember? So we could build our own relationship with him/her/it. When did we all forget that?
Anyway, just a little public service announcement from the chick who's father is living proof that prayer, defined however you want from gettin down on your knees in church to just a five minute thought, no matter from whatever religion (or non-religion), fucking works.
Things are definitely okay right now. Positive. A pinch of happy, even. Uh-oh, better not get too excited, that might ruin the
true artist illusion I have set up in Real Life.
Last night I sat down with Chaz who's going through a rough patch right now and he said, "I look at you and your father and think,
my problems aren't even half as bad as yours." And I told him not to go there. We all have our own dramas because they're our learning opportunities. It's the way we find out who we are. What I have to get out of these things is totally different from what you do. That's not good or bad, that's just the individual's struggle. I may be blessed to have a decent living, but that doesn't change the fact that my mother's already gone and my father has his foot in the door. And it certainly doesn't change the fact that I'm not going to take advantage of my talents and time and try and do something good with it, and that I'm not going to
give myself the opportunity to succeed and fail.
And write. Write is good. Actually did some yesterday after this crazy week. I'm thinking I might try and move along with the Young Adult novel I'd drafted in college and see how far I can get. I really want to write it but the characters kept changing as the Strip line did. Took some notes, figured enough out to start and see if it'll work. So far it is. The characters are making more sense because they're speaking more, which is pushing it all along nicely.
So yeah. Plus not having to have a review in this week helped too. I needed a little break.
.the girl who is not very 4:28 PM
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03 October 2001
I feel like I've been holding my breath, but I might end up holding it again.
Dad went into surgery. 2 hours later, they were finished and he'd asked the doctor for a beer.
Tests tomorrow. If everything goes well, he might be home this weekend.
This, by far, is a Very Good Thing.
.the girl who is not very 11:40 PM
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02 October 2001
It's strange how cycles repeat themselves.
I'm having that removed feeling I did after Mom died. Removal from society, from friends who are sympathetic but don't quite fully understand, from adults who are just as lost as I am, from kids who are totally oblivious.
In '98 right after Mom died I saw
Neil and
Tori in the same year. Three years later, with Dad's foot already on Death's doorstep, I'll see them both in the same year again this year.
I get a lot of slack sometimes because I like these two artists-- mainly because people like to generalize other people by what art they like-- so either I'm branded as a goth or a dippy-faerie-bitter-chick. That's fine. That's what they think. But these two people's art are very important to me, and meeting one of them was inspirational in a way I can't even begin to describe.
I know, it sounds clishe and silly. But if I didn't have that little push to write, no matter what, and be inspired, and direct my energy somewhere, and create, I don't know where I'd be right now-- probably standing next to Mom. When Neil wrote "Because it helped" in my book, I don't think it even begins to go where songs and stories took me.
I don't even know exactly where I wanted to go with that. I was just thinking about it when I signed on today. I'm just really hoping this surgery tomorrow buys Dad enough time until Christmas, maybe if we're really blessed until his birthday in April.
The strange thing is that life does go on while all this is happening. It feels funny that I go hang out with friends and think about my Dad lying in that bed in the hospital. Not guilty, however, if that makes any sense. I mean, what would be the point of me just sitting there in the hospital, being in the nurses' and doctors' way, when my thoughts are just as strong at home before I go to bed at night? Does that sound mean? I don't know.
One funny thing, though. My uncle's in town from Pittsburgh, and he calls me from the hospital yesterday saying, "Here, write this down," and I'm thinking it's an important number or something. "Double latte, skim milk." I guess things really don't change.
.the girl who is not very 4:07 PM
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30 September 2001
"Cover your left nostril. Breathe in through the right one. Now, cover the right, uncover the left and breathe out. Then reverse the process. Repeat. Imagine each breath to be a light, filling your body with inspiration and wisdom. Now stretch your legs as far as they can go and reach your arms..." Sorry? What did you say? You want a zodiac forecast, not a set of relaxation exercises? Oh no you don't! Believe me, you want the relaxation! The need to stay calm and composed is now the greatest (if not the only) need you really have.I'm trying. I really am. Went to go visit Dad in the hospital today and he was watching racing on TV. He's trying to keep his humor in this whole thing which is good. He's starting to write things down on these little sheets of paper now, and those say just as much in their little fragments as his eyes do-- they get so wide when he's trying to get a point across when he can't talk and then he does this tired look with his eyebrows.
My Aunt Kathy, my mother's sister, is in town from Pismo Beach to be here for Sean and me. We were all there at the hospital with Marie and Brett's parents came. We all talked to Dad, let him know we were all there.
I hate hospitals. They give me hot flashes. Maybe it's because there are so many souls walking around there that it's just too much for my body to take and it just wants to shut down and not remember anything. They give me that scared feeling I've been trying to ween off of since the attacks on the 11th.
I should be writing, but there's so much in my head I don't really know where to start or where it's going to end. There's too much around me right now that reminds me of other times and I'm not removed enough.
.the girl who is not very 11:33 PM
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