What better time to write than half a shadow past midnight.
Today has been an interesting day, where many things were not good and not well handled by yours truly.
I actually got to my chemisty exam on time, which was a slight miracle, but then was excited to sit behind la crush (thank you, alphabetical order). After the exam, we had a grand time in our little corner doodling and poking fun at each other and making a message in a bottle that we were going to sink to the bottom of the pool today.
After the bell rang and the spell was broken, I walked downstairs, only to be met by the sight of previously mentioned crush snuggling with overlyHEADstrong rival sort. Ouch.
I shook it off and went into Mr. Indovina's office, thinking I could offer my services for the second half of the morning, but was VERY surprised to see that he was typing up the announcement for next year's season.
Grease.
Why on Earth would I think we were doing Cinderella?
Why would I even dare to get my hopes up that much?
Now I'm just embarrassed and disappointed.
The one solid, dependable thing I was looking forward to for next year turned out to be a sham and a half.
Ten bucks I end up in the chorus (I deserve it with this attitude).
I slithered to Colleen's house, where she had some brilliant Ethel Merman/Muppet Show for me to watch. Then it was off to Fuddrucker's for a particularly healthy meal of cheeseburgers and milkshakes. We decided to work it off by walking to the pool and flipping any honkers off (great stress relief). The pool was filled, and I mean filled to capacity, of little children and preppy "popular" kids. We still managed to have fun and check out a cute lifeguard and eagerly await the call from you-know-who.
The call never came.
Instead, my mom called me and acted very strange, asking what my schedule was like next week.
Turns out she was beating around the bush.
My great-grandfather died this morning.
He died.
Alone in a hospital room, 3,000 miles away from his home for over 90 years,
a few states away from us,
worlds away from those he loved the most: his wife, his close friends, who died years and years ago.
He died.
He stopped breathing.
I won't ever talk to him again.
I can't quite wrap my mind around it.
It seems impossible, that this man, who survived two world wars, two children, five grandchildren, seven great-grandchildren, several near death experiences and who has been smoking for over 85 years could die.
After all those nervewracking talks that my mom would give me after receiving a call from my grandmother - "Grandpa isn't doing well," she'd say. But it was always justincase.
When we visited him on my birthday
it was justincase.
That was the last time I saw him.
I don't even remember what I said.
I know I cried.
I know I hugged him.
But I can't remember what I said.
I'm so miserable, even though I've been "prepared" for this day for years.
I still feel like there was a secret, a secret to life, something he still had to share with me.
He was one of the happiest people I have ever known-
he was happy with his family,
he was beyond happy with the love of his life,
he was happy with his job
he was happy making adventures,
he was happy when he was active,
when he was laughing,
when he was in California.
He, well his body, is being flown to California next week.
Makes me want to move back.
Make sure my family moves back.
I want us all to die in California.
And mostly live there.
I mean, my great-grandfather traveled all around the world,
took so many different trips
and made so many random friends,
but California is still his favorite place in the world.
Now I'm sitting here,
with a headache
and bleary eyes,
feeling kind of nautious,
wishing he had heard me sing,
wishing he hadn't suffered,
dreading the funeral.
I want to talk to someone about all of this.
All of it.
But I really can't think of anyone who will not judge me or
do that horrible thing
involving tutting and
"Christina, come down to earth."
I'm sorry for the long entry, it was all just too much to write out.