To love and be loved
I've decided to stop locking my entries for the time being because I feel that I have finally hit that point in LJ that nobody reads these anymore, and the people that do are the important ones, and would be reading whether or not they were locked. I'm also still vain enough to think that someone may wander over and think my writing is brilliant. So unlocked they will remain.
Devouring books lately. The last one I read was "I Feel Bad About My Neck" by Nora Ephron. I didn't realize that the director of all my favorite chick flicks was also an author, but now that I know it, I want to inhale every book she's ever written. She makes me laugh so much and sometimes she makes me cry. It's breathless and rushed and too many words in not enough time and basically just perfect. It's not by any means serious literature but I don't care, it makes the commute go faster and really, I don't need any serious reads right now when I crunch data all day and sweat so much at night I can't sleep.
The last chapter is more poignant than the rest, and in the spirit of this newly revived journal, it is also about losing someone. She talks about her best friend Judy and how they found a lump under her tongue and less than a year later, Judy was gone. I read this story one morning before work (I guess it was last Friday) and I put the book down many times to stare out the window and think.
I hope I'm not becoming prematurely morbid or obsessed with death, it just seems like something I should consider, having lived 23 years in blissful ignorance of its existence. Nora also seems similarly blindsided:
"I don't want to die," Judy said.
"I believe in miracles," she said.
"I love you," she said.
"Can you believe this?" she said.
No, I can't believe it. I still can't believe it.
But let's not be morbid.
Let's put little smiley faces on our faces.
LOL.
Eat, drink, and be merry.
Seize the day.
Life goes on.
It could be worse.
And the ever popular, "Consider the alternative."
And meanwhile, here we are.
I read this passage and all I could think was that I wish I told her more times that I loved her. I wish I had hugged her more and told her how awesome she was. I wish I had verbalized what it meant for me to be there, how she made my week better, how she balanced me, how it wasn't a chore going to the suburbs no matter how much I wished I could sleep in on those weekends. I think she knew. I know she knew. But for a million little selfish reasons I wish I had more time.
Devouring books lately. The last one I read was "I Feel Bad About My Neck" by Nora Ephron. I didn't realize that the director of all my favorite chick flicks was also an author, but now that I know it, I want to inhale every book she's ever written. She makes me laugh so much and sometimes she makes me cry. It's breathless and rushed and too many words in not enough time and basically just perfect. It's not by any means serious literature but I don't care, it makes the commute go faster and really, I don't need any serious reads right now when I crunch data all day and sweat so much at night I can't sleep.
The last chapter is more poignant than the rest, and in the spirit of this newly revived journal, it is also about losing someone. She talks about her best friend Judy and how they found a lump under her tongue and less than a year later, Judy was gone. I read this story one morning before work (I guess it was last Friday) and I put the book down many times to stare out the window and think.
I hope I'm not becoming prematurely morbid or obsessed with death, it just seems like something I should consider, having lived 23 years in blissful ignorance of its existence. Nora also seems similarly blindsided:
"I don't want to die," Judy said.
"I believe in miracles," she said.
"I love you," she said.
"Can you believe this?" she said.
No, I can't believe it. I still can't believe it.
But let's not be morbid.
Let's put little smiley faces on our faces.
LOL.
Eat, drink, and be merry.
Seize the day.
Life goes on.
It could be worse.
And the ever popular, "Consider the alternative."
And meanwhile, here we are.
I read this passage and all I could think was that I wish I told her more times that I loved her. I wish I had hugged her more and told her how awesome she was. I wish I had verbalized what it meant for me to be there, how she made my week better, how she balanced me, how it wasn't a chore going to the suburbs no matter how much I wished I could sleep in on those weekends. I think she knew. I know she knew. But for a million little selfish reasons I wish I had more time.