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9-1-01 - 1:33 a.m. Breathe in, breathe out. No, I'm not singing "Machinehead." I'm just doing the bare essentials to get through this night. I suppose sleeping would be the easiest way to pass the time, but that's not what I want to do, and I know it wouldn't come anyway. Some of the numbness wore off in patches today. I can't really describe it. I feel like I'm obligated to be mournful, but how can I mourn someone I never loved and hardly even knew? We were not mother and daughter the way one usually pictures that relationship to be. We merely coexisted, much to one another's disdain. She was a stranger to me, and I to her. A part of me feels guilty. Like I could have done something. Every time I start to feel this way, another part of me pipes up to tell the guilty mofo that she's full of shit. I know the second one is right but I can't ignore the first one. She's more persistant. I know in my head that there was nothing I could have done. She wasn't my responsibility. When I first moved out of the house, I gave Ann a monthly check for $250. It was all my allowance plus a chunk out of my paycheck. I guess I felt I was doing my civic duty, helping the needy. I'm sure she spent it all on drugs. I tried. In my own way. I never hit back. She'd had enough abuse from Brent (we all did) and didn't need my help. Wait�that's a lie. I punched her once. But I was drunk. I was always drunk in 1999. That's not an excuse. Just an addendum. Aside from dealing with my mom's suicide, I went in for training at work today. Kurt met me and showed me around the place, explained how some of the machines worked and introduced me to the two other coffeebitches working that day. One girl, Kendra, seems alright. The other girl working that day was Cherish. I kid you not. Her parents named her a verb. Cherish doesn't like me, I can tell. Either that or I smelled really awful and only she could smell me, cuz she got that kind of a look on her face whenever she saw me. I also went and saw Janet. Janet was dumbfounded when I told her what had happened. For the first time ever, she was absolutely speechless. Other than that, it was a fairly good meeting. I cried. Not so much for Ann as for me. I've reached the point where the pot is boiling over, but instead of hissing as the water hits the stove, I'm choosing to uncover the pot and let the froth slowly settle. That was the most pathetic metaphor I have ever used in my entire life. But it's true. I'm not keeping this one inside. Admittedly I don't know that there's much to keep inside, but whatever I feel, I share. Whether it's with Rob or Bryan or Sharon or Janet, or Diaryland, as the case may be. I'm trying to be smart about these things. But at the same time I'm trying to get on with life. So far this summer it's been an uphill climb on a muddy slope, but hey, at least I can say that, for once, I'm trying. Sigh.
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