(no subject)
It's pretty wonderful how many things I learned from Amanda.
She was warm, but firm. I respected that about her. She was a Boss Bitch. She had embraced all the negative connotations of that, and flipped them on their head.
She did her best not to swear, unless she was hangry.
"Fresh Food is Good Food." Was one of her many mottos. She was a chef, and believed in the magic of good food prepared with love. I say this to myself when I'm struggling. When I need something to propell me into a healthy food choice, which for me is whether to eat at all some times.
Not right now, right now I'm eating everything under the stars. Grief. PMS. Bad combo.
She was a beautiful example of healthy self care. She loved herself and nurtured her emotional self with the kind of passion usually reserved for fledgling relationships.
She said I was inspirational. It was on a little slip of paper I'd hung up for everyone to grab a feel good statement, and she pulled that down and gave it to me. She said she'd learned things from me too. It made me feel so special. That someone I respected, looked up to, would learn from me too.
It made me feel capable of being the person I envision myself being.
That was one of the big things with Amanda. Being around her made you feel like you could handle your shit. She never swooped in or took over when I fucked up, when any of us did. She stood back, waited for us to think and struggle. She would offer advice only if asked for it. She held secrets close to her heart, and in fact went to the grave with many of mine.
On bad days at work, if she was available, I'd stop at her house for a toke, a shot (just one, seriously. Oh, all right! I'll have another half with you), and a cup of coffee. Food too, if i was hungry.
It sounds so devious, but it was really comforting. My nerves would relax, and I'd go on and on for minutes about all the things plaguing my mind. When I finished, while she's in almost complete silence, I would often realize how. . . petty I can be. Her quiet acceptance of the things I had said, without agreeing with them, always allowed me the space to question myself and, if needed, put myself on a different mind path. A more positive productive one.
I miss her.
I thought it would take some time to miss her, because that's been my experience with loss.
But that's not the case. I miss her now. I miss just knowing that I'd get to see her today, she always worked Friday mornings and we'd have so much fun working hard and being together.
She made me feel stronger. Just knowing that she believed in me is a strength that I will try to take with me everywhere I go. I sometimes feel so small and fragile, like everything I do will shatter if don't do everything perfectly. We'd have a good laugh over that. Since when does perfection bring anything good anyway?
I don't want to stop talking about her. I'm not finished. But I'm afraid I'll run out of stories, then they'll be gone. It's a silly fear. Stories don't go farther away each time they're told, they grow stronger and take deeper root in your mind. But I'm terrified that if I talk about her, her memory will get used up and it will leave me.
I'm so grateful I have tonight off rehearsal.
We were supposed to open, but it got pushed back a week. Thank God.
Tonight is a benefit/memorial show for Amanda. We're raising money for her family, to help with the cost of everything. I mean, the woman died on vacation (happy) and her family had to transport her body. That's expensive.
So that's tonight. If it wasn't a thing for Amanda, I would NOT be going out tonight. I'm beat. Too tired to do anything very well, honestly. I'm only giving probably. . .25% of myself to any one venture. I just don't have the mental space to care.
Ok.
I need to finish getting ready for work.
She was warm, but firm. I respected that about her. She was a Boss Bitch. She had embraced all the negative connotations of that, and flipped them on their head.
She did her best not to swear, unless she was hangry.
"Fresh Food is Good Food." Was one of her many mottos. She was a chef, and believed in the magic of good food prepared with love. I say this to myself when I'm struggling. When I need something to propell me into a healthy food choice, which for me is whether to eat at all some times.
Not right now, right now I'm eating everything under the stars. Grief. PMS. Bad combo.
She was a beautiful example of healthy self care. She loved herself and nurtured her emotional self with the kind of passion usually reserved for fledgling relationships.
She said I was inspirational. It was on a little slip of paper I'd hung up for everyone to grab a feel good statement, and she pulled that down and gave it to me. She said she'd learned things from me too. It made me feel so special. That someone I respected, looked up to, would learn from me too.
It made me feel capable of being the person I envision myself being.
That was one of the big things with Amanda. Being around her made you feel like you could handle your shit. She never swooped in or took over when I fucked up, when any of us did. She stood back, waited for us to think and struggle. She would offer advice only if asked for it. She held secrets close to her heart, and in fact went to the grave with many of mine.
On bad days at work, if she was available, I'd stop at her house for a toke, a shot (just one, seriously. Oh, all right! I'll have another half with you), and a cup of coffee. Food too, if i was hungry.
It sounds so devious, but it was really comforting. My nerves would relax, and I'd go on and on for minutes about all the things plaguing my mind. When I finished, while she's in almost complete silence, I would often realize how. . . petty I can be. Her quiet acceptance of the things I had said, without agreeing with them, always allowed me the space to question myself and, if needed, put myself on a different mind path. A more positive productive one.
I miss her.
I thought it would take some time to miss her, because that's been my experience with loss.
But that's not the case. I miss her now. I miss just knowing that I'd get to see her today, she always worked Friday mornings and we'd have so much fun working hard and being together.
She made me feel stronger. Just knowing that she believed in me is a strength that I will try to take with me everywhere I go. I sometimes feel so small and fragile, like everything I do will shatter if don't do everything perfectly. We'd have a good laugh over that. Since when does perfection bring anything good anyway?
I don't want to stop talking about her. I'm not finished. But I'm afraid I'll run out of stories, then they'll be gone. It's a silly fear. Stories don't go farther away each time they're told, they grow stronger and take deeper root in your mind. But I'm terrified that if I talk about her, her memory will get used up and it will leave me.
I'm so grateful I have tonight off rehearsal.
We were supposed to open, but it got pushed back a week. Thank God.
Tonight is a benefit/memorial show for Amanda. We're raising money for her family, to help with the cost of everything. I mean, the woman died on vacation (happy) and her family had to transport her body. That's expensive.
So that's tonight. If it wasn't a thing for Amanda, I would NOT be going out tonight. I'm beat. Too tired to do anything very well, honestly. I'm only giving probably. . .25% of myself to any one venture. I just don't have the mental space to care.
Ok.
I need to finish getting ready for work.