French rap plays in the background. I breathe in and nod my head. The Atlantic Magazine website is open. I am searching for something, searching for an interesting article to post to my Facebook, searching for something to make me more colorful, to make people think I'm more colorful, that is.

That's what Facebook is for, after all. Building an identity when you've all but lost your own.

But

I am afraid. I am afraid that my insides are made of Splenda when they long to be sugar, that I am only an imitation of who I want to be.

With a desk. A computer. A professional phone-answering voice. A handshake.

Searching.

I am afraid of not knowing who I am or what I want. I am afraid of mediocrity. I am afraid of not living up to the person I always believed I'd become.

I am afraid of singing off key. I am afraid of sounding silly when I leave a message. I am tired, and I am trying to remember who I am and who I was.

heartsick.

runtie was an amazing, gentle, benevolent presence in my life - and now he's gone. it's been two days. i cannot seem to get through them without crying, at random- in the train station, during my commute, when i am alone in my house or working at hunter. there is an ache that doesn't go away. there are images of him suffering, the spastic movements of his body trying to fight against itself, his yowls as we tried to pick him up and hold him, him being surrounded by doctors in the emergency vets' office as they stuck tubes down his throat, liquids dripping out of his mouth because he was no longer willing or able to swallow, the panting, the crying. everything.

there are parallels with last year. his sunken eyes, his violent death, the days and nights i spent with him, confined to one room, waiting for the inevitable. force feeding. the things i did to try and cheer him up - the youtube videos of birds chirping, the constant petting.

it's all coming back. the guilt over what i could have done, should have done, didn't know and wish i did, etc. i feel as though i did all the wrong things and can't help but think i poisoned his body when i was trying to do the exact opposite. i am angry, at myself, but more so at the vets who failed my baby. i am angry that they didn't inform us of certain risks, angry that they didn't pay attention, angry that they sent my runtie home sicker than when we brought him in.

i am sad because runtie was one of my best friends. he was a constant in my life for 10 years. he was born on my bed. i watched him grow up. it is hard to accept that he's gone for good, that this unwavering source of comfort is no longer with me. i walk around the house and am reminded of him in every room, his fur is undoubtedly still on his favorite places to sit, but i wouldn't know which strands belonged to him.

i miss him terribly. i am full of regret and emptiness. i was lucky to have known such an amazing creature, but our time together was far too short. i know i need to accept this change in my life, but i simply can't. i don't feel ok.

i am heartbroken.

i know i'm thinking but i'm not certain about what. my mind moves, but it does not find words. i dunk myself into a pool of water, but emerge dry. i type furiously, purposefully, but the words come out jumbled, not really words but strings of letters, numbers and symbols that were times new roman in my head but wing dings on the screen.

i think i'm thinking, but i'm confusing thought with feeling. the difficulty is that, as uncertain as i am of what i might be thinking, i'm even more unsure of what i might be feeling.

i need to say something, but something is as specific as i can be. i have words, but i do not have the right words. i have a story that i've ripped up and put back together in a different order. i have a map without a beginning or an end. i have a hundred books i've finished without starting, and a hundred books i've started without finishing. madame bovary sits on the bed, waiting. perhaps her fatal flaw -- emma bovary's, that is-- is my own. perhaps her ache for grandeur is my own. her ache for precisely what she cannot have and her boredom with precisely what she does. i too have dreams that begin the moment that they end and end the moment they begin. the problem with this sort of dream is that it is never attainable; it is in a constant state of becoming.

still, all i want is to become.

my mind defies physics

haven't written in a while. sitting alone, awake at dawn.

afraid.

haven't written in a while. out of words, but ache so badly to say something.


---


i cannot be this person again. i am not strong enough to support others when i can barely hold myself up.

i am flimsy, a feather plucked gently off a pigeon that wasn't looking.


---

i always dream i make mistakes. i set fires and when i try to put them out, i make them bigger.

---

i haven't listened to music in a while. like, really listened. suddenly, i am enveloped by it. it is the only thing that speaks to me.

---

people are moving. things are changing. i may appear still as stone, but i'm not steady as i look. i am lava melting into earth. disappearing from sight and sound and consciousness but still bubbling hot with anticipation that something might finally get better.

---

the ache, indescribable. i feel it in my face. i feel it in my chest, my throat, my fingers, my toes. the sadness of others surrounds me...my own silently explodes.

---

haven't written in a while. out of words, but not for lack of feeling.

---

hopeless.

---

alone in a forest of trees falling silently.

All is change. Graduation. Cap and gown. Fulfillment. Emptiness. Uncertainty.

He should have been there.

With my qualifications I can work at the Sleepy's Mattress Store or be a mail carrier.

I dreamt I was in a tornado. I dreamt my mother died. I dreamt I kissed Lynette Scavo from Desperate Housewives. I dreamt I got swept up in a strong wind. I dreamt I was an orphan. I dreamt I was in a tornado, again, again, again.

There are always ghosts. Ghosts on the boardwalk, the Brooklyn Bridge, a song, your room. I see you but you disappear.

The grief weighs me down. The more time that passes, the more real his absence becomes. Seven months later, I'm (finally?) facing my father's death. I'm finally feeling the large, gaping hole and the ambiguity of the future. I don't know any longer what I want to do with my life. Law? Journalism? Diplomacy? Teaching? Novel writing? Poetry? I have the passion and the drive, but I've lost momentum. I don't know where to go from here. School? Work? Stay-at-home daughter? Sigh.

The things I most want to do will likely pay horribly. I'm not obsessed with dollar signs or anything, but I want to live comfortably and work reasonable hours. I've spent hours- days- browsing jobs and opportunities and I've yet to figure out what career will be both personally and financially rewarding. I always knew what I wanted and went for it, but that was easier to do when I was in school and could avoid thinking of practicality.

I'd love to be a Foreign Service Officer, but that means leaving family for years to serve abroad. Can I leave my mom - my everything - for that length of time? And when I get married, can I ask my husband to put his own career goals on hold so he can come with me? I no longer know what I am made of, nor am I certain what I am willing to sacrifice to get ahead.

Can I settle for a normal but happy life or will I be unsatisfied with anything but adventure? But then, what EXACTLY is adventure? I'm SURE there is something in this world that I can love doing, but what?

The grief weighs me down. Grief for Daddy, but also for college. Things were so much simpler when I had a full scholarship, a free dorm, and time to figure out what I was doing. But time wasn't time at all, and it passed so quickly.

For almost half of college, I faced life with a dying father, and it was the most important half, the half where I was meant to decide some big things about life. I was supposed to be interning at newspapers and non-profits when I was home watching movies with my dad or at the hospital holding his hand. It feels as though I've lost everything. So many great opportunities are only open to undergraduates. "Entry-level" jobs still demand experience, but how can I get said experience without having done a single internship? I've had more life experience in two years than many people have had in twenty, but can I put that on a resume? Will my devotion to my family get me hired?

The truth is, I'm afraid. I thought I was qualified for more than fetching coffee or flipping burgers. It was bad enough that I lost my father, but why does it feel like I've lost direction, drive, and appetite for greatness?

I want to do something great, but I need to do it for the right reasons. I won't become great if I only do it to to prove myself. I need to regain the passion I had once. I need to have dreams again.

I feel like I am floating. My fingers and eyes explore the world's possibilities on a computer screen, but then the computer crashes, and the world closes in on me.

I may seem pessimistic, but that isn't it. I'm simply lost.

The death changed me, I suppose. I find it more difficult to connect with people, these days. I feel distant from even my closest friends. I miss them but I don't know what to say to them anymore. When I'm with them, I feel disconnected from their world, their jokes, all that I missed when I was with my family.

But, I WILL find my way, though I won't do it alone. The first step is realizing that I am imperfect, and need a little help every once in a while.

all i can say is that this semester is FUCKING MISERABLE. i pulled an all-nighter just so i could go out on my birthday, then i worked all day saturday and pulled another all-nighter saturday night. i didn't finish the immediate work i had to do until well into the afternoon on sunday. to make matters worse, i have school all day today, and a paper due thursday as well as a spanish exam. so basically, i have to work all fucking day tomorrow. And I'm sick...AGAIN! I've been getting sick so much lately, probably because I don't have time to sleep :( this is awful. all i wanted was for my second semester of senior year to be calm and relaxing after everything i went through last year, and it's just the worst thing in the world. we're only 3 weeks into the semester! this is supposed to be the easy time! i'm afraid it's only going to get worse...

you always won at board games
and you always won at cards

your luck was better in monopoly
than it was in life

you died young
but still your racecar races
down the board

and your battleship,
it battles on.

--

today it makes 4 months. i can't believe it's been so long. every day it feels like i lose a little more of you. i lost you all at once, but i suppose i just couldn't take it in the moment. so i lose you little by little, like i'm slowly sipping tea until the cup is empty.

---

i cannot lose you all at once
so i slowly sip my tea
and lose you one sip at a time.

the cup is nearly empty;
it's been four months since you've gone.
and still,
my quaking hand is holding on.

the moment's come and left,
but it comes and comes again
as i drag it out with every sip,
i do not gulp.

the tea is nearly gone,
but i'm afraid that i'll forget the taste
if i drink it down too fast.

as it is,
my tea's gone cold,
and i'm forgetting.