baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dramatic Little Fuck At the risk of being overly dramatic, I have to say that climbing out of the hole of the past week isn�t much of an option. Laughter has made its way back into my life. Girl-Unit, blessed with those dancing blue eyes and a deliriously innate positivity, has epitomized love in all its idealistic beauty. She has been an angel, and I catch myself wondering more than ever before what I did, what we did, to deserve such a creature. And I say this knowing full well that I�m reclining squarely within the borders of cliche: I love her with a madness that transcends the cancer, the bombing and the depression that refuses to lift off of my shoulders. She is the brightest light. And soon, for her, the smile on my face won�t be forced, and the taste of my blessed existence won�t be bitter. But not now. Not yet. My mind is filled with images of people falling through the sky-holding hands in a romantic salute to the fear of death and terror, of the mug shots of the dead that filled one page of this newspaper I work for, of war machines that I�ve been researching all week for this career of mine, of my mom surrounded by the din of intensive care-plastic tubes poking in and out of her nose, mouth and veins-the pulse of the heart monitor lulling her to a world that�s not quite sleep and not quite consciousness. And this media that I�m a part of-dear God-it�s like being surrounded with the terror everyday-reliving it and researching it over and over again-waiting for the impending holy war to start-waiting for more people to die so we can take the statistics, names and destruction and repackage it all into color illustrations and diagrams and pages that everyone will read. And sometimes, I imagine myself looking out the window of the upper floor- overlooking Los Angeles, the sound of tomorrow�s paper being written in my ears, and seeing a plane appear out of the sky and head right towards me-and wondering about all the things I never said to my mom, and to Girl-Unit or any other person that I�m still connected to via some loose end. My apologies. But, this sadness holds me as close as the oxygen in my lungs. 9:46 p.m. - 2001-09-18 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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