9:16 a.m. - 2004-01-27
more semi-morbidity
Wow. Things have been really intense since my return. The first day back at school was surprisingly pleasant/painless, and I managed to sidestep most banal back-to-school chat. The cutest guy in the English department is in my Shakespeare class. Always a joy, to be sure.
First night back at work was a slightly different story...I couldn't stop thinking about Katie and how improbable it seemed that she was gone. One of my workmates who went to the funeral said it was an open casket. I really don't think I could have dealt with that, but the decision was totally out of my hands. I was totally selfishly eurotrashed and I didn't hear anything about her until I returned, the day after her funeral.
Here's where it gets weird. I have always believed my subconscious to be a very fertile locus of thoughts and messages. I will follow my dreams regularly, even if they don't really make sense. It got pretty weird in London because I was so overstimulated during the day (hash, booze, art, cigs, deep conversation, lust) that my mind just flew off with me while I slept.
Anyway, last night, I dreamt that I was in a hotel lobby, sitting on a bench and talking to Katie. Not the Katie of before, but the Katie who wasn't alive anymore. We talked like we always did: we teased each other, we laughed about the oddness of life. I know we talked about her being gone, but so much of the dream is lost to the recesses of my strange inner world. As we spoke, people from all parts of my life walked by, and I could see them seeing me talk to myself.
It was...I don't know. My heart is really broken. I thought of this girl as my kid sister, at first an annoying tag-along and then as someone I really had a lot of love for. I've been thinking a lot about the way we romanticize the dead...I always thought it was so cliche and almost emotionally dishonest. It was like remaking the person in your mind to feel better about not liking them when they died.
That's not what happened with Katie. I cared about her a lot and I really think she knew it. I knew she cared about me because she was probably one of the most genuinely kind people I've ever known. But I see the necessity for the reinvention of the people we've lost. Because, as played out a sentiment as it is, we don't really know what we mean to each other until part of that is taken away. And it fucking sucks.
