finally, a coherent narrative! (particulars) wrote,
finally, a coherent narrative!

There are some people whose way of expressing sympathy seems more sincere. Some people know how to say things better. My sister, for example, says the things I like to say, "It'll be okay," and that makes me feel better because it's familiar, it's the sentiment I think of myself -- even when things don't work out. She knows me better than any friend or acquaintance can, of course. (Someone said, "Ick." How can you say Ick to me when you realize that this is a dream -- a sentimental but accurate word -- I've been banking on since I was eight years old? Even during my intellectual rebellion, I still liked MIT. But no, she wouldn't have known that, as a near-stranger.) I put things aside, I leave them alone, and then... it is okay. I got into Wellesley anyway, didn't I? I just wish I had gotten into MIT.

She mailed me, also, a replacement copy of Anna Karenina since she saw it on my wishlist. My sister is really underrated sometimes (by me). I wish I could do something for her, but there's no great unhappiness clouding her, I think, and it's been a few months since she tried to kill herself. I know she can't be that happy, if she tried to kill herself recently, but then: Mike is there. They are together, like one. I always look almost a little contemptuously and completely bewildered when she cries in front of me over him. One day, I recall, she comes into the living room looking distressed, and then her face collapses (we are so ugly when we cry -- we are a particular branch of ugly, one that escapes any kind of song lyric description), and she says, "He broke up with me." They're back together but they seem happy when they're in each others' presence and bickering a lot over the phone when they're not. I was there a week; I saw at least one fight. (Sounds familiar to me, but I'm a quiet one. I don't bicker but I make accusations in the form of questions.)

I'm the kind of person who would rather leave suffering alone, so I don't really need to admit to it in the future. The mind blanks these things out, and after a while that kind of pain is a fuzzy feeling. (After all, says retrospective reasoning, it's just school.) Sympathy? I deserve sympathy, but more than that I deserve to be admitted into MIT. I only posted to LiveJournal publicly because I would have to admit it anyway, and why not get it over right away, so I don't have to suffer anew when I tell everyone. This way all the crying gets over at once, all the remembering.

When I took my nap, it had all the elements of a nightmare: Wesner (any dream with his presence is a nightmare; I'm ashamed to admit he was even in my dream; god that's disgusting that I devote any thought to that louse out of school time), travelling with my mom and Monkey and houselady, staying in that god-awful shitty town a little outside L.A. that I did several years ago, wanting to do something and being continually beset by delays. My dream-logic made me realize that I was in L.A. only the morning after I actually arrived, and that I could do something about it. I was on a class trip, in one of the rooms detached from the building where most other people were staying. Gladiola was in the room next to me. (We were all in singles.)

I realized that, in that awful, shitty town, I could take the metrolink to LA and I could see some of my LA friends. But I was only there for the weekend and I had to invent a good excuse for my mother, who was on the trip, so I said: it's not too long to Claremont! Let me get away to visit my sister! I hate being on these things, anyway. Naturally Tod was on the forefront of the people I would call to see if we could get together! right away! except he lives in San Diego -- a journey-on-demand. (Very nearly almost what happened in real life, when I was there. I called him the day before.)

After numerous authorization delays and arguing, I ended up calling Quintus, for some unfathomable reason: because I hadn't seen him when I was in LA? Because he was the most convenient, since he lives near Hollywood? (And I lost Sean's number.) I don't remember if we managed to make plans; I think my dream died then. After I thought of it, though, I wanted to see my sister. (My plan was: I would go have fun with someone, then go to my sister's for a sleepover, then bring her in the morning on a Sunday train to the crappy place where we were staying as a surprise for my mother.) I wanted to see my sister a lot and I still do: staying at Pitzer was a happyplace. I even found airfare to Ontario for $220, and there's only one stop.

As long as I'm happy my health maintains itself, and today... I am not healthy.
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