So there had always been and perhaps always would be a maze of unmarked roads between her and others. That emotional map of France was still true in the present, full of subtexts, social intricacies, unspoken balances of power. One still needed to move warily, with hesitance, within it.

-Michael Ondaatje (Divisadero)

has it really been three years? because nothing feels any better than it did three years and two days ago. I still dream that it could somehow be a mistake, an elaborate hoax and he'll come riding up on his bike with a big grin and a hug and we won't even be able to be mad at him... but I know that's not real and I wish I could say I felt him in the wind but I don't. I miss him every day, all the time. all the time...

never mind treading water, never mind swimming towards your shore

The way that people get songs stuck in their head I get poetry. All weekend in Vegas I had Yeats running through my mind-

That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

Today is one of those days I just want to be near the ocean. The past few weeks have been crazy and fast and bad and good and heavy and fun and I need a few days to process everything. Today I want to be an island, and it's not sad or happy or lonely or anything extreme, I just want to be surrounded by sea water and feel free and that is the best I can describe how I feel right now.

But Vegas was a blast, stories to come.

K

a wise man told me

It's strange to find that sometimes the only thing that makes me feel connected to humanity is reading Ondaatje. Things have been so blurry and hard lately, for the past week. It is hard to be in the best group of friends I've ever been in and feel so disconnected. I guess to feel surrounded and alone at the same time. There are times when the pain in my heart gets so bad I can't breathe for a moment and I realize, before burying it again, how deep these certain wounds go. It's sharp lately, not an ache like it was last year. It's a stab in my chest at a time that makes no sense at all. It's this realization that if still, being with these amazing people who I love so much, I can't just let myself be I don't know that I'll ever be able to. And I can cite all the usual for this deficit- the poor relationship with my father, the trauma of growing up with a sick brother, the guy who broke my heart, losing a friend... but I am so tired of carrying these things around with me. I resent that the mechanisms, humor or confidence or whatever, have become personality traits.

Like I said, it was a painful week, both physically and emotionally. My shoulder injury has me trapped and dependent. The guy who broke my heart hurt me again. And every night I've been more aware than usual of how completely on my own I feel. And it's strange, I don't really know how to explain it but I opened up Coming Through Slaughter and started crying. And it's the same with all the writer's whose words have been in my mind for so long- Neruda, Eggers, Dickinson, Foer, Yeats, Browning... They all just make sense to me, and their words calm me down.

I miss Eric so much lately. I can't believe it's been almost three years... I miss his spirit, his smile, I miss his kind words. I hate talking about him to people because I can't describe him to people- he was just alive. And I resent that whenever he comes up people feel the need to tell the stories of their sister's friend's brother's friend who killed themselves. I get silent and fidgety and angry, because Eric isn't a statistic or a story, he was this loud, beating heart who loved so much. Maybe I shouldn't feel that way, but it was painful to see Eric's death turn into such a sensation here. I've loved him since the moment I saw him when I was 14 years old and I still love him and I swear that every single moment I'm aware that he's missing from this earth. And I don't understand why he made the decision he did. And mostly I wish he was still here. So yeah, when I get like this I don't want to talk about it. I just want to read some Ondaatje.

I don't want to talk about it

I really hate my heart sometimes