Man oh man. Look, Erie, I know we're not on the best of terms, but this is getting ridiculous. Last night was rough, right, so this morning, I made every effort to shove today in the other direction. I did progressive-muscle relaxation exercises, took a long hot shower with tea-tree shampoo, had lunch with the family, and danced in my room 'til I was a sweaty mess. I took a multivitamin. I mean, really, everything I could think of. And I was still shaky and sad, but trying. And then my mom said we should rent a movie, and I thought, "Yeah, okay, here we go."
So we rented The Science of Sleep, which I'd been wanting to see all semester, and my father even stuck around to watch with us. Too bad that it reminded me of Jason, to a painful degree, all the way through. Gael Garcia Bernal's character, cute as he may be, came off as manipulative and wildly impractical and absolutely infuriating, much like Jason himself. But I mean, all of it, from the music to the lighting to the script, reeked of Jason: it's the kind of movie he'd love to make, I can tell. And after it was over, I just fell apart completely, and my parents heard me crying, and it just got really, really awkward. My father, bless his heart, brought Sal up to my room and tried to convince him to stay with me, and my mom rubbed my back and asked me to sleep with her tonight. It took ages to convince them that I was okay, and that I was going to stay up and distract myself for a while and they should go on to bed, and then Sal left and I really broke down. Checked Jason's MySpace, of course, because I still do that several times a day, and saw that, indeed, he'd listed The Science of Sleep to his favorite movies. Fucking fucker. It's been almost eight months and I worry that I'm getting worse. I need to toughen up, to be braver, to get over it.
Luckily, I did get to talk to Joe tonight, and Marshall's calling me back soon, and although Asheville is too faraway for me right now, I'll go back next month and turn Lori's house into a proper loveshack, which is a dream I've been waiting years to realize. And Tommy Hays wrote to me this morning and was predictably precious, and I made my mother watch that stupid video of him on Bookwatch, and that cheered me up some. And I'm going to get ready for bed now, and practice relaxation exercises from the book Jill lent me, and Marshall will talk me right to sleep, if I'm lucky, and I'm going to set my alarm periodically so I can't sleep solidly for long enough to dream, so maybe I can get by without nightmares. I've got a plan, is what I mean, and there are bound to be good things on their way, things I'm not even looking for. Tomorrow: the library, some writing, and a more successful movie night with Mom. Tonight: sleep, as soon as I can get it. Goodnight, lovelies.
So we rented The Science of Sleep, which I'd been wanting to see all semester, and my father even stuck around to watch with us. Too bad that it reminded me of Jason, to a painful degree, all the way through. Gael Garcia Bernal's character, cute as he may be, came off as manipulative and wildly impractical and absolutely infuriating, much like Jason himself. But I mean, all of it, from the music to the lighting to the script, reeked of Jason: it's the kind of movie he'd love to make, I can tell. And after it was over, I just fell apart completely, and my parents heard me crying, and it just got really, really awkward. My father, bless his heart, brought Sal up to my room and tried to convince him to stay with me, and my mom rubbed my back and asked me to sleep with her tonight. It took ages to convince them that I was okay, and that I was going to stay up and distract myself for a while and they should go on to bed, and then Sal left and I really broke down. Checked Jason's MySpace, of course, because I still do that several times a day, and saw that, indeed, he'd listed The Science of Sleep to his favorite movies. Fucking fucker. It's been almost eight months and I worry that I'm getting worse. I need to toughen up, to be braver, to get over it.
Luckily, I did get to talk to Joe tonight, and Marshall's calling me back soon, and although Asheville is too faraway for me right now, I'll go back next month and turn Lori's house into a proper loveshack, which is a dream I've been waiting years to realize. And Tommy Hays wrote to me this morning and was predictably precious, and I made my mother watch that stupid video of him on Bookwatch, and that cheered me up some. And I'm going to get ready for bed now, and practice relaxation exercises from the book Jill lent me, and Marshall will talk me right to sleep, if I'm lucky, and I'm going to set my alarm periodically so I can't sleep solidly for long enough to dream, so maybe I can get by without nightmares. I've got a plan, is what I mean, and there are bound to be good things on their way, things I'm not even looking for. Tomorrow: the library, some writing, and a more successful movie night with Mom. Tonight: sleep, as soon as I can get it. Goodnight, lovelies.
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