ramanda's Diaryland Diary

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we trade our love for ambition and tell each other we'll get it all back in time

03.02.05

7:16pm

I owe you an update. About the M�tley Cr�e concert and how amazing it was. About the state of the union between Dan and I. About where I stand. About how I almost broke up with him last week. And about how he somehow made it all okay again. About how most of the time when I am running (because I am running) it is not from him, but from myself. And my own stupid fears.

But one day last week Erin emailed me to tell me that Cluck�s dad died. And all of a sudden none of that mattered anymore. It didn�t seem fair to talk about the kick ass rock show I went to or about my new love interest when a friend of mine was flying 18 hours north to bury his father. I just turned 26. I am too young to be sending flowers and picking out sympathy cards for a friend�s dead parent. Grandparent yes, parent no.

And so I was quiet. Maybe those entries are coming. Brewing in my head. Sitting, half-written in text files on my desktop.

There is more too. About one of my co-workers leaving. About how I cried when he told me. About how some days he is one of the only people I respect in that place and how it will simply not be the same without him. And about another co-worker who got fired today. About how I watched her peel off in her SUV and how I felt a little pang of guilt coupled with sweet relief that she is gone.

And then there is this. From Eleanor Rigby which the lovely Baderin gave me for my birthday.

    I think I�m reasonable, just trying to be honest with myself about the ways of the world. Or come up with new ways of seeing them. I once read that for every person currently alive on this earth, there are nineteen dead people who have lived before us. That�s not that much really. Our existence as a species on earth has been so short. We forget that.

Comfort. None of this really matters. I work so hard and I over think everything and I get so worried about all of it that I cry. And then I take comfort in the idea that none of it means a lick anyway. I enjoy the idea that there is a grand, cosmic force, much larger than myself, at work here. And all I can do is be the very best person I can be. The rest is not up to me.

Perhaps that is the essence of faith. The realization that you are free from responsibility. That you will be absolved of all your sins. That one day it will all be washed away.

-A

7:16 p.m. - 03.02.05

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