Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.

~ The Wizard of Oz

There is a list somewhere out there that ranks the stress factors in a person's life. Each event is assigned a number of points, from 0-100, according to how much stress it places on a person. 

The four top stressors are:

1. Death of a loved one.
2. Divorce/breakup.
3. Moving.
4. Loss of a job.

Guess how many of these I am dealing with? Oh, go on, guess. 

Time's up. If you said "all fucking four at the same fucking time" ... you're right! Ding ding ding! Give yourself a cookie. I don't know how many stress points I have, but if there's a breaking point, I have to be reaching it. 

I can't believe I made it through this, my last day of work, without wandering out of the Land of Normalcy over into Hysteria Town. I sat in my car this morning crying, thinking, "I cannot do this. I can not do this." I was required to evince optimism and cheer for the future, and all I was feeling... all I am feeling, actually... is the desire to curl up in a ball of Pathetic, holding a red balloon (tm Eleanor).

I guess the fact that I made it through counts for something. It really was a great farewell party. I got tons of presents (four gift certificates to four different bookstores, among other things) and we had a great, 2+ hour lunch where I got a little buzzed. That was fun. But other than that... I am at my lowest, lowest, lowest point ever. It can't possibly get worse. 

(Okay, it could. More people could die, or Tim could tell me he doesn't want to be my friend, or there could be an earthquake, or I could run over a kitten, or I could be diagnosed with a horrible disease... okay, it could get worse. I rescind my hyperbole.)

But seriously. Don't you feel the teeniest urge to play a violin for me? Not even that small violin that you're always playing, but like, a huge motherfucking violin. A violin the size of Brunei Darussalam. A violin with tears slowly rolling down the strings because it's sooo depressed. That violin. That's the one you should play for me.

It's sad, really, that the most stable influence in my life right now is my parakeet. And she's no great shakes either: her newest hobby is entitled, "Let me try to stick my head between the bars of my cage." She'll get a running (waddling, really) start towards the bars and then try to cram her head through them. She usually gets her forehead feathers fluffed through, but that's about all she can manage.

(On second thought, that's pretty amusing. It actually quite cheers me up when she does that.)

Well, you cry a little. And then you wait for the sun to come out. It always does.

~ The Sound of Music

It's remarkably easy to lose the people that you love. I've discovered that recently. Within a week, or a day. From one hour to the next. Someone you love is there, and then they're gone. 

First things first: Grandma.

My grandmother's viewing was bizarre. Her embalmed corpse (which looked nothing like her) was laying (lying? whatever) in a corner of this stuffy room, and we all sat around on these floral couches, while this creepy guy in a gray suit hovered around "comfortingly". My cousin took pictures of the flowers, and someone else (don't remember who) took a picture of the corpse. People walked up to the body and made stupid comments ("Oh, how peaceful she looks!") and we all sat around and felt supremely awkward. (Do we cry? Do we share memories? Do we drink coffee? What's the etiquette here?) We looked at my Oscar night photos and waited for the time to pass.

When they embalm someone, they drain the blood and fluids out of the body and fill it with embalming fluid. I hope whoever has that job gets paid plenty, and I hope I never, ever meet that person. Because that is just plain creepy.  And doing the makeup for the corpse... wow. Equally creepy. 

Charlotte, bless her, thought it was creepy too, and has never been to one of these things, but she came anyway. In fact, she was my most supportive friend, and the only one of my friends who came to the viewing. Both she and her husband came.

When Danielle showed up at the funeral and started badmouthing Charlotte and Bruno... I wasn't really thrilled with it. Maybe they weren't real sociable, but they both took the day off work to be there, and Charlotte was visibly upset, and she's known Grandma for 10 years, and Grandma has been more of a grandmother to Char than her own grandmothers ever were, and, well... I have nothing but good things to say about Charlotte. She drives me crazy at times, but this past week, she's been wonderful.

Okay, that was a tangent.

Anyway, I was glad when that was over, although we still had the funeral to contend with. I hadn't broken down, I hadn't cried and embarrassed myself, and I hadn't even been tempted to. It was too dissonant. Too surreal. Too strange. The strangest moment happened as we were leaving, and my father said very excitedly, "Did you say goodbye to Grandma??"

Um... uuh... no? Why, is she offended? What a weird thing to say.

Abby said that on the night before the funeral, she was talking to Grandma, and all of a sudden, the light started blinking on her phone, and her roses started to shake, and the room suddenly started to smell like Grandma's house. My dad ran in because he thought he heard a phone ringing (?) and my sister was freaked way out. 

Overactive imagination? I hope not. I'd love to think Grandma wasn't gone from existence forever. 

Well, the funeral was nice, as these things go. We had the same priest that did the last rites, who as you all know, is TOTALLY on crack. His homily went something like: "Ann died every day, just by giving of herself to all of us. In fact, we all die every day. When we share our toys, and we have to give our toy to someone, we die to that toy." 

Riiiight. Maybe it's the fact that I'm not Catholic anymore, but that makes no sense to me whatsoever.

The music was stunningly beautiful. Abby gave her old piano teacher a bunch of sheet music, and she made a tape for us. We had some of my favorite church songs: "On Eagle's Wings", "Here I Am, Lord", and "Ave Maria".  We also had "Wind Beneath My Wings" which made Abby cry. 

The tape was being played on a boom box. The sound was great, but the priest was operating it via remote control. So he'd be sitting there, staring into space with a "holy" look on his face, and suddenly the remote control would be peeking out of his sleeve, because he was trying to turn off the music. It was rather ludicrous. At least it gave us something to laugh at.

I did the first reading. My voice quavered a little, but I got through it. My sister did the second reading and broke down-- more than one person lost it when Abby was up there, reading the 23rd Psalm, her voice cracking.

The graveside ceremony was short and simple. The reception was pleasant and the food was good. Other than the fact that my beloved grandmother is still dead, it went pretty well, actually.  (I'm going to hell for this: my grandmother's old friends were all sitting around sharing memories, and I was thinking, Why couldn't one of you be the one to die? Oh yeah. Eternal damnation for that one.)

...and one day, without even realizing it, you find you're in love. Time stops, and it feels like the whole world is made for you two, and you two alone, until the day one of you leaves and rips the still-beating heart from the other, who's now a broken, hollow mockery of the human condition."

~ Buffy the Vampire Slayer

You know what's funny? (Not funny ha-ha... maybe poetic justice.) Last year, I was looking at Abby & Ash, and Bruno & Charlotte, and thinking my relationship was so much superior to theirs, and so much healthier, and on and on. Now, I'm jealous of them all.

Talk about my hubris coming back to bite me on the ass, eh?

Matt is leaving California, and he's leaving me. He told me last night (more stellar timing, but it's better than uncertainty) that he can't do the long distance thing. So... this is it. 

It's horrible.  I did everything I could. I gave him everything, including the power to hurt me. I gave him my trust and my effort and my commitment and my love. And it wasn't good enough. I'm not worth the effort required to sustain our relationship. That's what it comes down to, after all.  I know our relationship is not perfect, but to me, we have something so special, that it's worth trying to fix the imperfections. But it's not up to me, is it?

I wish I could say, "Well, he'll regret losing me" or something, but I can't. The fact is that life goes on, and he'll move back home, and be without me, and be happy. He'll find some other girl to love. And who knows? It might even be the right choice for him. I can't even take comfort in the fact that he's making a horrible mistake, because for all I know, he's not.  

I'm not the only girl in the world for him.  I'm not adored. I'm alone.

And wow. I forgot how much it hurts. 

What torture love is."

~ The Slipper and the Rose

I would also like to say that my readers are wonderful. 

I speak in particular of the members of my notify list, who received an up-close-and-personal view of my relationship meltdown. (Hidden entries... tearful e-mails at 3:00 a.m.... yep, you're missing out.) One of them even sent me The Slipper and the Rose on DVD.  This has been one of my favorite movies since childhood, and I finally get to see it in widescreen. Heaven! (Richard Chamberlain is so damn sexy in that movie. Kymm can have Russell Crowe if I can have Richard Chamberlain, circa 1975. Yum.)

And a special thanks to Dora for sending me some great quotes.

What with all the awards and the flame wars and the griping and the sniping and all, it's easy to lose sight of it. But the outpouring of love and affection (remember that Nelson song?) that I have gotten has been, genuinely, a lifesaver.

I haven't told anyone in my "real" life what's going on because it's all so uncertain, and everyone has their own agenda, anyway. But you guys... this community... I love the fact that I'm a part of it. People can link and unlink, people can subscribe and unsubscribe, but the one central thing is that I have friends. I have people who read about my life because they care about me.

I only wish I could cry on your shoulders. E-mail isn't quite the same.  And right now the thing I want, most in the world, is for someone to hold me while I cry.  Matt does it, but, well, when he tenderly puts his arms around me-- it's comforting and at the same time, its a cruel joke. So I cry even harder... for all my losses, and all the losses yet to come. 

Of course, Bruce didn't start dressing well until he was gay, wouldn't you know it? I had to be seen with him in these hideous outfits, but then he came out of the closet and got a job at Structure, and before you know it, he's a fashion plate.