ericboy's Diaryland Diary

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

\"I'm a fatal error\" - KMFDM

The hatred is subsiding. The physical manifestations of insanity are dulling. I'm levelling out or something of the like.
Work was interminably long today and I had a hell of a time getting through it. Over the course of the day, I managed to get very little done. The last half I spent almost entirely on register, a task which, for me, is equivalent to shining the shoes of longshoremen. I got off work and hauled ass to the theater. I made it there in record time: thirty-nine minutes. I got my blocking for Ary's show and an hour later I was back on the street and walking home, which I also did in record time: fifty-eight minutes. Needless to say, my body is none too pleased with me right now. It does, however, appreciate the water that I am now putting in it.
Bryen's last night of work was tonight. Tomorrow morning, when I'm clocking in for my shift, he'll be picking up a large U-Haul truck and will spend the rest of the day loading it with his shit, Kristine's shit, and Roxy's shit. When I get home after rehearsal at ten-ish, the three of them will be in this room with no furniture or computer or anything. The next morning, when I wake up to go to work, they will be gone. My roommate and friend is leaving to move to San Fransisco and taking the tentative peace of this household with him. Not to mention the computer that I'm typing on right now and have been using to make regular journal updates for the past many months. I will miss him more than the computer, mind you. He's been a great friend, co-worker, and roommate. I always hate it when people leave.
For now, sleep seems to be a good thing, but it's so early, I don't see that happening. After all, the last thing that I really want to do is rush into the transition from today to tomorrow. Tomorrow is the toughest day of the year for me, and has been so for ten years, now. I don't look forward to seeing where it will take me, what it will do to me, or how I will endure it, if at all.
For the first two years there was the loss, absence, and palpable sense of emptiness. When that was replaced with a self-defense tactic of erasing the history behind the loss, then came the anger, self-loathing, and hatred. The more I try to remember what life was like with him and come up short, the angrier I get. The more I think about the day he was taken, the angrier I get. The more I think about how little my life has changed, the angrier I get. The more I try to think where he would fit in now and come up short, the angrier I get.
I get angry a lot.

11:00 p.m. - 2004-09-28

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

previous - next