Let's see. Where did I leave off? I can't remember. I have been up since long before dawn. I do this. I can't sleep. I am not sure why. I am exhausted, but I never seem to make it through the night. This has not always been the case. I used to sleep a solid eight hours a night. I love sleeping at night. I have always been an early to bed, early to rise kind of girl. As a child, sleep overs were torture for me. My friends would sleep in until 10 am sometimes. I would have been awake with the dawn, watching them sleep, looking around their room from my sleeping bag on the floor. One time, I will admit, as I lie there waiting hours for my hostess to awaken...I spotted her diary under her bed. Yes, yes I did. May I add a qualifier? This might discredit me and prove to H1 and H2, that I am a liar. A big fat, can't be trusted liar. However, this particular friend was my bosom friend. We still are friends. We met the first day of second grade. Our names were not known alone, only with the other. Everyone in school knew we were best friends. I would sleep at her house nearly every weekend. I called her mother mom. She would drive us around Boyle Heights at night and tell stories of what it was like to grow up in that old Los Angeles neighborhood in the fifties. K-Earth 101 would be blaring oldies like "The Duke of Earl." She would usually have a can of Miller Lite tucked between her legs as she pointed out various spots of interest. But, I digress, again. I apologize H1 & H2. I can't say it won't happen a few more times. I know you are busy Barristers and all and have a lot to read. So, yes, I did read her diary. The funny thing about it was that I already knew everything that was written in it. How she liked Darryl, a lot. How she would drag her best friend(me,) to watch Darryl and his mates dress up like KISS and play covers in his garage. Good times, my friend, good times. So that is my qualifier. She was my best friend and reading her diary was akin to reading my own memoir.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
This first paragraph was written several days ago. I saved it, but had a hard time coming back to it. This tends to happen. It didn't happen before the injury. It is this oppressive heaviness that seems to overcome my entire being, body and soul...It comes on so easily now. It usually intensifies around big events. Doctor appointments, court dates, these are big ones. Much of the time, it is just there. After our meeting on Monday, it was as though a hurricane ripped through me, leaving refrigerators and tires and other debris in it's wake. I spent the entire next day close to bed. In bed actually. I was just embarrassed to admit it on National Television. The rest of the week followed suit. These are hard days for me. I was accustomed to work. I liked to work. I enjoyed returning home after a long day at school. Since this roller coaster became my life, I am unsure of who I am. I remember who I was. Unfortunately, most of the people I knew when I moved to California, I met at school. At one point, I did not know ONE person that I met outside of the Waldorf community. Imagine my state now. At this writing, I am in contact with one person from that community. One. I had a class of 30 students. That makes at least 60 parents, add in step-parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, colleagues, parents in other classes, staff members...That is a lot of people. When I worked the parking lot at pick-up time, I could honestly say I knew most parents, all of their children, nannies, babysitters, older siblings. After my injury, after this fight with the insurance company and the school and the endless, heart wrenching court days, being shunned and not welcome at the graduation of the children I loved and thought of daily for eight years, I now speak to ONE person.
This makes me sad. I am going to bed now.
Posted by Alberta Art Classes at 7:14 AM