some other beginning's end.

I don't know, I guess I just wish I could write as well as John Irving.  If someone happens to be mulling over the perfect gift to give me just because I'm pretty, I will provide a suggestion:  every novel John Irving has ever written (minus The Cider House Rules because by George, I've got it).  I used to own three others but they've been lost in the madness.

Oh, and I just finished The Hotel New Hampshire.  So don't buy me that one either.

Can I provide you with a quote that epitomizes the beauty of this ridiculously unrealistic yet so there book?  No.  Because it's not like that.  It's not direct.  It's the entire story -- the whole freaking thing -- the intricate nuances of each character, the obsessive attention to detail. Ah yes, I can pull a quote after all!

  "You've got to get obsessed and stay obsessed." 

How many times have I become obsessed but couldn't stay? 

Just recently, however, I put my all into a really intense work presentation.  I sacrificed my body for this work of art, spending about 16 hours on it within two days.  My lower back aches, my neck is threatening to send me to the chiropractor again and my hands are sore enough to affect my tennis game (sending me reeling into a sea of expletive-filled tantrums last night at the courts).  But who gives a shit right?  I very rarely feel useful at work and I needed this to keep me just getting by there. 

My great aunt Zi-Zi died last week.  My great aunt was my grandmother's best friend.  And my grandmother and I have a sort of closeness that fits into the space reserved for the love of mother and daughter.  And since my mother and I haven't been able to get there yet (I'm saying yet now because I've decided that since I'm moving home in a month I should try to be optimistic about her) what my Mom-Mom and I share far surpasses where my mother and I stand.  The woman is blind but graceful.  She is the type of woman who makes you feel like she's been sitting on the edge of her seat anticipating your arrival with an excitement usually reserved for those who win the lottery when you walk in the house. 

And her best friend died.  And I cried for the loss of Zi-Zi and I cried for my Mom-Mom's heart breaking.  But we all celebrated Zi-Zi's life and grieved her death together as a family and even though this may sound selfish, it felt like a little victory to me.  I become instantly terrified when tragedy strikes, fearing that I will return from it losing the ability to smile ever again.  It's very selfish really.  Why did you die?  Didn't you know I have a hard time coming back from sadness?  You should think before you go and do something like that.  I cried and I grieved that day with one of B's large, warm hands wrapped in mine and the other stroking my back.  But I also smiled and made Mom-Mom laugh too.

Healing happens when it wants to.  I read John Irving's novel with a certain tinge in my heart as he described parts of my life.  And I felt the pain and the nervousness that revolve around those parts.  I realized I hadn't yet fully healed.  But I didn't pick at it to try to make it go away quicker.

I let it live without trying to control it.

And here I sit now, emptying myself of the words and picking the scab on my cheek to make it heal faster. 

Damnit.  Didn't I just say I learned that healing happens in its own time?  Do as I say, not as I do.