with my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied; i am crying in the bathroom.
I imagine how it is for my grandma, who sits alone all day. Well, she has friends come over occassionally from down the hall or the other floors or floor eleven because that's where Luba lives, but it isn't the same. She has to find things to do because otherwise she might think too much about how she's alone, and it's ironic because i know that'
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Wouldn't she think about her husband and two sons even when they all lived under the same roof? "Things change. And friends leave. And life doesn't stop for anyone."//it's wonderful how Charlie can duplicate what we feel and we don't even know him. We don't even know of his existance, really.
I adore that quote, too. But I have a secret. I know where they disappear to. We inhale the words and sounds and voices and laughter and they're part of us now. I know I carry everything I've heard with me. Isn't that where they're supposed to go? Everyone's thoughts are cumulatiing within the air and sometimes i just want to pick them.
All I have for the moment is a song to pass the time, a melody to keep me from worrying. Oh, some simple progression to keep my fingers busy.
Maybe that's how your grandma feels. She keeps herself busy, but everything's always there.
I remember a while ago you had an entry about your grandma and had a picture of her and wrote, "Isn't she beautiful?" I don't think I ever responded. I intended on saying she was, but as soon as I saw this entry I thought of that picture. I'm not sure the signifigance.
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My grandpa died just recently. Thursday, I think, and the funeral was yesterday. I can bet you anything that's how my grandma is now. As soon as I saw her coming to my house so she wouldn't be alone and fiddling through magazines all day, I thought of this entry.
I don't know; I thought it was relavant.
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