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I stopped giving quite as much a shit about sports results ("YOU FUCKING LIAR!" screams everyone who reads my tumblr and/or private twitter) when real life hit me with, like, multiple deaths and illnesses with friends and family in succession over two years, but man, tonight still really hurt.
Anyone I've been meaning to make this note that with all of the weird tomfoolery with livejournal, I dusted off my dreamwidth, which is under the same name, and I'll get around to importing the journal over there and trying to remember to cross-post. But I don't plan to delete this journal, as I'm very confident that no one will ever notice me, so no fears of that.
This Thursday will bring me up on the third year since Louise died. It's not any better, and I still miss her so much sometimes, it feels like my skin hurts. I post about her a lot here, and I realize it sounds like I'm depressed all the time. I'm not, I promise. But I think people get-- I think there's this unconscious "statute of limitations" thing that's given off after enough time has passed, where talking about it or bringing it up seems awkward. So I try to save it for here, where I can be emotional and know that a couple people are maybe reading it, but not so many that it feels like I'm monopolizing them.
Anyway, I bring it up in part because I realized next week is the awards ceremony at our old college, so I need to take the day and drive down for the award they give away in her name. The first year, the student who was supposed to get it didn't bother to show, and there was a botching of the program to the point where they didn't even announce anything to do with it. Her parents were horrified; I was pissed, and so I went full ragewad and wrote angry, angry letters to anyone and everyone in the administrative office and the Dean. The second year, the same student was supposed to receive it, so I drove down again in order to get a front row seat specifically so I could glare at her non-stop. When I'm spiteful about something, I go the full nine yards.
I still need to write up what happened when I went to that Baltimore strip club and got a lap dance for research.
Anyone I've been meaning to make this note that with all of the weird tomfoolery with livejournal, I dusted off my dreamwidth, which is under the same name, and I'll get around to importing the journal over there and trying to remember to cross-post. But I don't plan to delete this journal, as I'm very confident that no one will ever notice me, so no fears of that.
This Thursday will bring me up on the third year since Louise died. It's not any better, and I still miss her so much sometimes, it feels like my skin hurts. I post about her a lot here, and I realize it sounds like I'm depressed all the time. I'm not, I promise. But I think people get-- I think there's this unconscious "statute of limitations" thing that's given off after enough time has passed, where talking about it or bringing it up seems awkward. So I try to save it for here, where I can be emotional and know that a couple people are maybe reading it, but not so many that it feels like I'm monopolizing them.
Anyway, I bring it up in part because I realized next week is the awards ceremony at our old college, so I need to take the day and drive down for the award they give away in her name. The first year, the student who was supposed to get it didn't bother to show, and there was a botching of the program to the point where they didn't even announce anything to do with it. Her parents were horrified; I was pissed, and so I went full ragewad and wrote angry, angry letters to anyone and everyone in the administrative office and the Dean. The second year, the same student was supposed to receive it, so I drove down again in order to get a front row seat specifically so I could glare at her non-stop. When I'm spiteful about something, I go the full nine yards.
I still need to write up what happened when I went to that Baltimore strip club and got a lap dance for research.
