November 22, 1998.

I just don't know what to say. I've spent the entire weekend in a beautiful funeral home up north, watching my relatives fall to pieces. The past week with the Boy has drained me of tears & sorrow. I had nothing to give them except hugs & understanding & comic relief. The minister finally made me shed a few tears during the service, but they were tears of guilt more than anything. She prayed to God for eventual relief for suffering after the death of my uncle, but my relief had come on Thursday, when I patched things up with the Boy. In a way, the death itself was a relief, because it wasn't anything worse. Not my mom dying or my selfish, sharp-witted brother. Not The Boy leaving me on the floor, weeping.

I guess one thing I must learn to forgive is my own massive selfishness. I just wish there were more of me there this weekend, and less in my own private reverie. I wish there were more left.

And there was a final dance to seal off the weekend of dumb misery. When they dropped me off & I realized that my keys were gone, it almost undid me. Nobody was home to let me in. Nobody answered their phone in the City to provide me with rescue. I could only remember 3 or 4 numbers of anyone's home number. I did burst into tears then, surprising myself greatly. I thought I was dry. Guess not.

But I'm here. My roommate came home, as was inevitable. I've found a new diary - the Boy's brother-in-law has quietly started a web journal. I have my computer & my new webpage design & the materials needed to write my essay and if the Boy doesn't call in the next hour, I swear I'm going to start crying again. I try not to need him as much while we're apart, but it's so fucking hard to give him space.

My eyes burn. Time to write that essay.

P.S. Lots of good, funny stories from this weekend, but not tonight. Not when I want someone to take the pain from my eyes & the chill from my lips. The last thing I kissed was a corpse, and it burns.