I wanted this to be a poem. I tried to make it a poem. It wasn’t working right. Now it’s a.. well, it’s a whatever this is. I don’t really know. I guess it doesn’t have to be an anything, and I’m not really required to know what it is.
A poem felt disingenuous, to how I’m feeling. How am I feeling? Sad? Obviously. Devastated? Probably. Crushed? Still? Forever? Always. Angry? I’m a little angry.
I’m angry about how things happened. Angry about the way I was cheated out of an actual goodbye. A real goodbye. I’m angry at myself for not asking the questions I’ll never get the answer to. I’m angry that it was incredibly difficult to make it through the first five minutes of Guardians of the Galaxy. (seriously, I almost left the theatre). I’m angry that there are still random points where I’ll break down in tears. I’m angry for those random memory trails that can derail an entire moment or an entire day. Most of all I’m angry for being angry. I really shouldn’t be.
Is it everyday? No, it’s not every day. But it is every day. It’s every day. But it’s not everyday. Does that make sense? Of course not. Now you’re understanding how every day feels.
Things are much better now they really are. No really, I mean it. Despite everything that happened, despite losing Kay and Pete miles away from me, despite losing Apollo and Midnight right in front of my eyes, despite losing my job (Especially that one, you never liked that job, well, neither did I), everything is better now. Mostly because I can feel things now.
Things like emotions. Like happy. That was hard to do for a while. I stopped feeling things sometime last year, I’m not sure when it came back, January? February? That doesn’t mean I can control them. There’s still those above mentioned bad days. Uncontrollable days. Whatever days.
I tried things, antidepressants, or antidepressant, I suppose. Something I never thought I’d try. From about January until the day I knew Midnight was going to die. I was already weaning off. Sorcha wanted me to stop. I didn’t renew. Were they a success? I don’t know. That depends on your definition of success. I know it’s more of a success to some, myself included, that I’m not taking them.
So, there’s that, I’d like to tell you more, but I don’t really know what else to say. I’m glad I stayed through Guardians. It was pretty rad. My art is on a show with the guy from Wings, but I’ve never seen it, because it’s about cancer, and that’s cowardly of me, I know. I’ll get to it. I wish I was doing more, dad turned to walking, he’s lost an insanely inspiring amount of weight whereas I wrote a play about bi-curious college girls. (It’s a comedy, and it’s sweet, and mostly innocent). I’m selling myself short. It was insanely difficult to write, and I’m incredibly proud of it, It’s the best thing I’ve ever written
I was asked to lead a playwriting workshop for kids, I won’t be sharing that particular play with them.
That’s an awkward note to end on.
I went to Disney, like got to go inside, well, most of the way inside. You put me there, or at least put me on the track.
I still don’t like October. I know, it’s silly. But there it is.
Penguins. They love when I draw penguins. Who knew. You did, so thank you for that.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I miss you. I love you.