outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary

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post trauma

Ok. I think I'm ready to write again. I'm not positive, but we'll see how it goes.

I feel selfish when I have to remind myself that things aren't normal. Then I feel foolish when I want to hold all my friends and cry and kiss the ground.

I wonder if anyone else has the urge to kiss the ground as often as I do.

Right now I just want to put my arms around something that isn't there. It's just not fair. It's just not right. Look at what a beautiful day it is. Look at the city gleaming in the soft sunlight, look at all the people hidden in tin boxes going to and fro on the bridges. So complacent, outwardly. It's very hard to rectify the parts of your mind that want to go on and be normal with the little broken pieces of your mind that will never fit again.

I'm going to write you a little story to get our minds off this.

THE TRAMPOLINE TERROR

Once upon a time, just a few days ago, Jessie ordered a trampoline. She was very excited, as it was her life-long dream and she felt very accomplished being able to make it come true. You might even say she should have done it long ago. But she didn't. She waited and waited for the stupid delivery people to finally bring it to her, and they did once upon another time, being last night. It arrived in a sorry state, the box all broken up and covered in tape. Jessie said "Hm" but she ignored it and moved on. She dumped all the pieces onto her rug and changed into pajamas so her precious outfit wouldn't get ruined. She struggled long and hard with the pieces. She finally connected the parts that make the trampoline round, a feat no one expected her to be able to do. But she did, and she felt proud. She then tackled the attachment of the jump-on part of the trampoline to the round part with sturdy springs. She was able to connect the parts two fifths of the way around, but then she could stretch the jump-on part no more. The springs would only give sufficiently if she had two hands to pull on them, but she needed one hand to hold the round part so the spring could find the slot. Jessie simply did not have enough hands to complete the task. She was left with the framework of a trampoline on her rug and such unrelenting grease on her hands that she could not clean her contacts. The end.

Anyone who thinks this is a metaphor for my life can just shut up, cause it's not.

I've had all these soothing songs going through my head for the past few days. My brain has tuned in to Reparation Radio.

I think we're all still on for this weekend. It's going to be a relief to see everyone, even though I know they're all fine. I need to see it with my own eyes. I'll feel a lot better when we're all together.

Ah. I see I've stopped paying attention to this entry. I better end it.

9:43 a.m. - 2001-09-13

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