I swear it feels like I’m not really alive, but I am pretty sure dead people don’t get up and go to work, right? Maybe on a good day, dead people get up and eat cheese and watch reality tv marathons on VH1, but why would they ever go to work?
As it seems that I’m at work, I guess I can’t be dead. But I can write in my blog. Even better, there was actually much accomplished this weekend.
* I went to see Sex and the City with Jessica. It was so good. Everything I needed it to be. I was on the verge of emotional breakdown through much of it, as many parts were quite moving. And everyone gets *exactly* what they want in the end. Jess and I then had a fair amount of alcohol and did a little dancing in the Easy Lounge.
* I jogged around Lake Merritt without stopping to walk once.
* I performed Sicilienne by Faure at my cello recital without a single major bungle. I was afeared. Not messing up is highly impressive. So be impressed.
So, I’m still functional. I did have some sad moments. Sometimes I swear it is getting worse, not better. And I still can’t believe that I am getting on with just existing without my person.
It’s all been highly documented here, though. Belief must be imminent.
margaret edith 