is it really only tuesday - - cripes

the last two days have lasted forever and yet been so pointless. still sick.

i don't really have anything going on in my head - i've ceased to have thoughts. i just have formless anxeity. i'm not unhappy i just have so fucking much to do and i have been too sick and lethargic to do it. trying to talk myself out of stressing may in fact be counterproductive.

so, i guess i'll tell you one of those things about the grieving that i have been holding back. i am obsessed with the last moments of gideon's life. consumed with what went through his head; also there is the . . . well, one of the things was . . . in the last few months of his life i woul dget these random emails from him 'when are you coming to see me'. and there were a few of times i tried to call him but he didn't answer. and there were a couple of times i tried to will him to call me. now, i don't know how you feel about such things but i had a friend that i used to try to will to do stuff and he would actually report being effected. i'm not going to walk you through that right now though. take it at face value.

so the night gideon died. in fact, while he was dying i was driving home from my mother's. i can't remember whether i tried to call him or to will him to call me that night. i worry that i did that i might have averted his attention. in fact when i got home i remember having this weird idea that he had deleted me from his friends list on myspace and looking him up to see if he had been on lately - if he had deleted me. btw, the whole 'did i avert his attention'. i don't really blame myself (well, not in that way). i mean, we all have cell phones. you call someone you have no idea if they are driving; walking; fucking - - whatever. we'll get into the ways i do actually blame myself some other time.

here's the thing; well, things - i have been on a motorcycle when gideon almost wiped out. it was fall '86. when i tell you that i don't know how we weren't smeared across the pavement like melted butter. had we so much as moved a pinky differently . . . if our elbows had been out a little more we would have lost our arms. it happened because gideon turned around to laugh with me about idk scaring me maybe. and because he was turned away from the pavement he never saw how close we came. and even if he had he would have underplayed it. honestly i wasn't really scared either. i have gone back to that countless times through the years. it was one of those moments that your mind takes a snapshot of. go forward four years i am in my senior year in college / gideon is living in nebraska. i get a "letter" from him. it was actually a notebook - he wrote an ongoing letter to me. most of it he wrote while he was recuperating - from what you ask? - flipping over the handlebars of his bicycle and breaking his clavicle. he wrote a short story about it; wry humor - about the road being drunk. the turning point of the narrative is his last thoughts before hitting the ground. i guess - well, what i really guess is that is all i can type for now. i suppose i should say more - i'm kinda leaving all this without a narrative or analysis but i'm worn out.

sorry

Nobody deserves a mime