At Least They're Committed

My last post on here celebrated an upcoming girl’s day out with Ellen. As expected, it was a great time and we vowed next time to wear fancy hats to tea and tarot! But there won’t be a next time because Ellen died.

I’m devastated and confused and a little bit happy for her. We both feared ‘lingering’ as we reached old age and since her memory was getting to be slightly suspect, she often said she was ready to go at any time.

It occurs to me that ‘Good’ is actually a myth, a vague hope that things will go well. ‘Not bad’ is more realistic.

I can’t write. I can’t do anything right. Most days the only comfort I find is in prayer.

These are the notes I wrote to myself last night as I was trying to work my head around the fact that I screwed up the screen measurements and they’re too long:

I measured them three times and they don’t fit. Life mocks me.

Is emotional anguish easier than physical? Emotional distress makes me welcome the thought of physical pain as a distraction . . . or an end.

My favorite friend is gone, the lovely twisted sister.

Oh, I just smiled when I wrote that!!!

I just have to keep going.

What if, with all this bullshit, I don’t do things right and I don’t get to see them? My dad, my grandpas, Ellen, Guido. What if it takes longer?

I have to do my best spiritually and physically.

The end.