Today is much harder than yesterday. Faulkner, the self-professed misanthrope and author of one of my favorite books ever (As I lay Dying) has this to say: "Between grief and nothing, I will take grief."
And indeed, I have been sleepwalking through the nothingness of winter, but this is a wakeup call of truly awful proportions.
A few years ago when I was in Montreal, Sarah and I both broke up with our boyfriends within the same week and I had broken my finger. And it was Valentine's week. So we decided to be creative, and make ourselves remember that not all of humanity is a writeoff. We went to the croissanterie on Fairmount and took turns telling each other stories about all the objectively wonderful people we have known. At the end of our tales, we were crying to beat the band.
I got home last night and was contemplating which substance would best bring sleep on opening night of A.'s play. Had my first big cry of the day as I smoothed out my rolling paper. Was just gearing up to the intense pukey-cry when the phone rang. It was a friend of A. from New York. Word up to Josie who talked to me for an hour last night and made me feel a whole lot better.
And friends are so awestrikingly excellent and wise: Werd to everyone who has been offering distraction, advice, and food to a weepy pony.
