The Sting of Death is Not for the Dead

It's 2:30 AM as I begin to write. Another night of screwed up sleep. This started about 2 weeks ago, and I haven't been able to fix it yet. Going to sleep really late, waking up with barely enough time to make it to class.

This past week has been beyond miserable. I don't know where to start. I think I'll work from the middle and branch out from there. A sweet, beautiful, fairie-like girl I knew from undergrad died this weekend in a car wreck. She was so vibrant, happy, fun, friendly... I LOVED her. I wept uncontrollably in an open field when I heard the news - I was heading home and her best friend (my 'plan b') called me sobbing. 'It's J - she's gone.' I remember desperately repeated "Nononononononono..." I didn't believe it. I thought she was kidding. A part of me realized this would NEVER be a joke in anyone's mind, but it was the first explanation my mind could come up with to rationalize why she would tell me such a horrible thing. (Confabulation, perhaps?) I pulled the car off the next exit, parked in an empty lot, hung up the phone... and cried. I caught a glimpse of myself in the car window - tears streaming down both cheeks, eyes red and swollen, lips quivering as I struggled to catch my breath.

I hate this. I have been to so many funerals for people who were way too young to die. It sucks. It hurts. The grief-stricken parents, the numb siblings, the numerous young people who were friends with the deceased holding each other as they cry - I've seen it too many times, and this one is harder than all the rest. She was incredible, absolutely a beautiful girl. My favorite memory of her was when I visited her at the coffee shop where she worked. She had her hair done up in a bandanna, and was wearing something simple yet attractive. All over her hands and clothes was brown coffee powder - she was throwing around large coffee sacks and not minding how dirty she was getting. Her face lit up when she saw me, and she came running to give me a big hug. It made me so happy, and I smelled of coffee for hours later.

I am so unwilling to give this one up. I usually make peace with these situations pretty quickly, even through the pain. Not this time. I question the motives of the Divine with this one, and am toying with the possibility of a celestial blunder. It just doesn't seem right.

Everything else I could possibly write about is meaningless in comparison right now, and I'm exhausted. So much more to come, so much schoolwork to do. I have been emotionally drained, on the verge of tears, and so tired since Sunday. I need someone to hold me, sleep with me, tell me it's going to be all right. But people don't do that. I do that. I have been so tempted to push the issue with PB or MPD lately, but it's hard once you're out to get straight guys back into the bed with you. Besides, Jay would most definitely be green with envy... Not that I'd tell him, but still. It would come up.

40 winks, then class. Will write more soon.