9:42 p.m. - February 06, 2002
lacking in everything
Tee hee.. my secret is out. I suppose a secret I never really thought about much isn't really secret; something that becomes big only when someone else makes it that way. (Has to get there somehow....) At least I'm not self-advertising. It feels good.
And as I rediscovered for maybe the millionth time, it is so nice to always be welcome somewhere. Erik's mother should win some sort of award for being so stable that my entire life can whirl around and around and she'll still open the door to me when I ring the bell. If I thought very hard about it, I could picture myself, age 80, coming back to Evanston to visit from some exotic place (retirement home, more like), and ringing the doorbell, and having her come to the door, unchanged, everything unchanged. Even though logistically she'd be over a hundred by then.
And.
Six months. He tells me I'll meet amazing people in college. Amazing friends.
But they'll be nothing like him. I couldn't let him go last night because I kept thinking, 'Six months.' And thinking in six months it wouldn't matter if I couldn't let him go because he wouldn't be there for me to let go of. Of course I'll meet amazing people. Of course. But I can't see them in my head, I don't know what they smell like, or what music is on their playlists, or the face they make when you ask an open-ended question. I only notice these things about people when it's too late and you're about to leave them for destinations unknown..
So I had a dream that my yard was full of quicksand. I remembered the advice in the book Camille gave me for some holiday or another and tried to lay horizontal, but I sunk in and it wasn't death, just my bed, and I was clutching something I thought for a second was somebody I wished I was clutching, but it was just the headboard pillow I tossed aside the night before. My eyes were leaking, but I wasn't sad, really, just lacking in everything.

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