I’m slacking. The death of an old friend a couple of weeks ago had me down, and I couldn’t write anything for a couple of days, book, journal, or blog. The spark just disappeared, for like a week. Then last Tuesday, the spark returned, and I had a super productive day, and wrote nearly 2000 words, which for me, is pretty impressive. Perhaps it was because it was because by last Tuesday, I was pretty much cried out, and I had more energy to funnel into my work. Whatever the reason was, I was glad to have my spark back, and I felt a great sense of accomplishment for the rest of the day.
My friend was a great person. He was an alcoholic, and he died at 43. The day after I turned 43. Despite not seeing him in person for fifteen years, his death hit me harder than I imagined it would, and I felt like a part of my childhood died with him. He was apart of my childhood. I met him when I was twelve, and became his girlfriend at seventeen. I was into punk rock, he was punk rock, my mother hated him. It was perfect! He was the first guy I ever fell in love with, and I had to move away from him. We kept in touch over the years, and remained friends, but marriage, kids, and responsibilities took us on our own paths, and we simply became old and distant friends. It was it’s own little tragedy, and it got filed away with all the other shit I file away and never deal with. I am the queen of bottling shit up. Sometimes, the shit gets dealt with in a timely manner. Sometimes, it sits and festers, then comes out of left field. Sometimes, I never deal with it, and I just leave it alone to die, much like the shit that gets filtered to my email SPAM folder. Eventually, it just disappears. Or gets bled into my writing. At any rate, it goes away. I guess I thought this was one of those things, yet, when I got the text message saying he had passed, something deep inside me broke. Emotional connections are a funny thing. Maybe it’s because I’m a girl, maybe it’s because I’m sensitive (no, my feelings aren’t easily hurt – I connect with people and feel their energies), but it was more than just sadness over someone I knew dying so young, even though you kind of knew it was coming because, let’s face it, the human body can only take so much. But I have no explanation where this emotion came from. It was just all of a sudden there.
My bestie Jen, not to be confused with my cousin Jen, called me this morning, to tell me about his funeral, which I missed because I was in Phoenix. My sister Natalie is getting married in November, and Nicole and I had a bachelorette party to throw. I was originally going to fly back early Sunday to attend the funeral, but then I thought, I don’t get to see my sisters as often as I’d like to, and you never know when life is going to throw some fucking curve ball at you, so I opted to stay and spend time with my sisters, and my niece and nephew. Probably a good thing, because I woke up Sunday morning, still wearing my clothes from the night before, makeup smeared all over my eyes, and still a bit drunk. I missed what was described to me as a ‘punk rock funeral’, and on seeing some other old friends I would have love to have seen, but I’m okay with it. I was apparently meant to be elsewhere, pouring one out for him. Hey, it can’t hurt him anymore.