I will eat you alive.
When someone in "real life" asks you where you've been on lj lately, how are you supposed to answer? If you personally know someone well enough to see them at a given time during your day, then what does it matter if you update what amounts to a glorified public email?
That said, I've been undergoing a rebellion of all things associated with the information age. This includes absence on the ever closed community of lj, writing fewer emails than I should, and "forgetting" to carry my cell phone with me. It might not make much sense- my family and quite a few friends are out of state and I risk alienating people around here, but am I the only one who gets tired of being plugged into the system all the damn time? I can't hike up a fucking mountain without hearing the goddamned traffic below.
I hate being in a bad mood,especially when I can see that it's all stress and Kristina...
Speaking of which: I don't believe in the occult, but I've noticed that all of my memorials for her have been vaguely pagan- last year it was the collaborative viking ship and this year I wrote a letter in the sand on the Oregon Coast for the tide to wash away. I like to think that she would appreciate these efforts as they combine two of her interests, communication and the supernatural, but they're just personal excursions to make her death feel less permanent. It makes me wonder how other people grieve her absence. Is she a phantom you see when you look over your shoulder? A memory that pops into your head at inopportune times? Or has she become a part of the physical things she left behind- photos, poems, and a soul forever contained in a skinny can of coke, a toy bird and a bowling ball with no holes?
Sometimes I regret the knick knacks she left for me. All my life I'm going to take care of a fucking can of coke and a useless bowling ball, and I'll never convey why its necessary to anyone who didn't know her well. Everyone blames themselves when a loved one commits suicide, but how can we help it? We were, afterall, a part of the life they chose to leave.
Looks like the happier spring break post will have to wait.
As always, here's to your memory. Cheers, Kristina.
That said, I've been undergoing a rebellion of all things associated with the information age. This includes absence on the ever closed community of lj, writing fewer emails than I should, and "forgetting" to carry my cell phone with me. It might not make much sense- my family and quite a few friends are out of state and I risk alienating people around here, but am I the only one who gets tired of being plugged into the system all the damn time? I can't hike up a fucking mountain without hearing the goddamned traffic below.
I hate being in a bad mood,especially when I can see that it's all stress and Kristina...
Speaking of which: I don't believe in the occult, but I've noticed that all of my memorials for her have been vaguely pagan- last year it was the collaborative viking ship and this year I wrote a letter in the sand on the Oregon Coast for the tide to wash away. I like to think that she would appreciate these efforts as they combine two of her interests, communication and the supernatural, but they're just personal excursions to make her death feel less permanent. It makes me wonder how other people grieve her absence. Is she a phantom you see when you look over your shoulder? A memory that pops into your head at inopportune times? Or has she become a part of the physical things she left behind- photos, poems, and a soul forever contained in a skinny can of coke, a toy bird and a bowling ball with no holes?
Sometimes I regret the knick knacks she left for me. All my life I'm going to take care of a fucking can of coke and a useless bowling ball, and I'll never convey why its necessary to anyone who didn't know her well. Everyone blames themselves when a loved one commits suicide, but how can we help it? We were, afterall, a part of the life they chose to leave.
Looks like the happier spring break post will have to wait.
As always, here's to your memory. Cheers, Kristina.