I'm burning through my work this morning. I have energy, even though I'm still tired in the extreme--it's that tired that makes your chest feel heavy and your stomach feel empty, even when it's not. I don't work well without my proper sleep. I have never been one for sleep deprivation, never been one to suffer (or enjoy the fun of) insomnia. I like a good healthy night's sleep and until I get one of those I moan and groan. But I feel better today.

Last night I went home all by myself and I pulled the big garbage bin right up to the front of the house and I just started throwing shit away. That felt awfully good. And I had Severna and Basho to keep me company, two most excellent pooches. Later on in the evening, indeed, I had the pleasure of an unexpected visitor and Frances was her name. She showed up with a birthday present for me, something that makes me smile now to think of it. She gave me beer, vegetables, and Buffy. A six pack of beer, a homemade (and just gorgeous) salad & dressing, AND season 3 Buffy on DVD. It makes me pant I'm so excited about that DVD. I know this diary has gotten a little Buffy heavy of late. I'd apologize except I think most people might take that the wrong way. Really, I just love Frances an awful lot. And I love my birthday present.

I've been ruminating on my decision yesterday--the one to just to let my college chums go. It's like I've been under the thrall of sfitz and J-bird since I left college, thinking that they were my two favorite boys ever. But I've been seeing college them through college me eyes, not who they really are and not who I really am here and now. Today I'm embarrassed to realize that our friendship is nothing more than talking about the glory days, like Bruce Springsteen sings about.

I don't want to live that way and the fact is, those two are not people I have any respect for, not people I have any feelings for currently, except disappointment and a little bit of disgust. They care about status. They are as middle of the road middle class (even in their hipster clothes--no no, especially in their hipster clothes) boring middle management boys as you could find. They are only interested in hot chickies and politics (but in the worst way, friends) and their girlfriends and money and traveling. There ain't one thing in that last sentence that I find interesting. Nope, not even the hot chickies. Because they have boring taste there too. No creativity, no imagination. Like sfitz--him who really shaped who I am today more than most folks, we talked for a long time on Saturday night about this stuff. I told him how disappointed I am in how he's turned out (that sounds worse than how I said it, but that's essentially what we talked about) how I always admired him and thought him a splendid human. But he's just a complete and total sellout, a fact he happily embraces, frankly. I told him I wasn't talking about stuff when I said he was a sellout, I was talking about his spirit, and he paused, and he said, you're right. That's when he said, you're the only person I know who hasn't done that. And yuck. That's my reaction. Because nobody I want to be friends with would ever even think like this.

On Sunday I just felt so sad about it all, like I finally see who they are, not who I think they are, and I don't like them. It's good, though, because I guess I'm finally growing up a little bit.

We all made plans to go camping in September and I'm not going, but I don't want it to be a thing. I guess I'll have to get over that too. But I just imagine them thinking that I'm being the person they already imagine I am (drunk, depressed, friendless cat-lady hick) and giving each other knowing looks and maybe even staging an intervention of some kind. That's it too, they don't see me, don't know who I am. I think sftitz does, but he's all turned around and not wanting to see or something. But I trust that he'll get it in a way that J-bird and the rest of the college folks never will. He, after all, was the only who got what I meant when I said he was a spiritual sellout. Whatever. It's over. It's sad, but it's over. Blah.

Email from Oliver:

Hey there Molly.

A late-in-the-day happy birthday to you. I hope you've had a splendid day. Enjoy your last year of being in your 20s; I found my 29th year to be one of the best in many ways.

I hope things are good with you. Mom occasionally gives me updates (I heard you almost moved away from NC, for instance).

Life has been extraordinarily busy for me. It's hard to keep with it all. Today, I dropped off lease papers with my new landlord, returned to work at 10:30 am, dealt with all of these members of the public who owed money and had questions, and then rushed off to city hall to assist in a presentation about researching our campaign finance database, extemporaneous public speaking and all. Whew. I have to make calls now and then head of to pick up my news keys from the property mgr. Yep, I now have my own studio in SF; I'll send out new address and phone info by June 1st.

I really appreciated the birthday e-mail that you sent. Thanks. And the Christmas present, the book you made. You know, I didn't even realize that the latter was for me and almost left without it until Shawn or Mom or somebody pointed out that it was for me. Those communication breakdowns are a bummer. Since getting that present, I've been meaning to e-mail you, you know, start a discussion. I wanted to give it some real thought though. Alas, time sure flies and, like I said, its hard to get everything done. Honestly, my physical distance is increasingly feeling like a real distance from all you guys in the family. It felt great for Joe to visit.

Anyway, I hear you about it not being worth it sometimes. Whatever happens, you're still be sister and that never changes. I will definitely write and/or call sometime in the near future and then look forward to your response, whenever you're able to get to it. Even if there's no resolution, it might be good to clear the air, now that some reflective time has passed.

But, blah, blah, blah. Who wants to think about that crappy stuff when it's YOUR birthday. Hurray! Celebrate! Dance on the table! I wish you a wonderous three-day weekend and will be in touch. Perhaps send you an unbirthday present when you least expect it...

love always,
Oliver

Pretty good. Actually very much extremely good. A relief. I haven't written back--I'm just so damned overwhelmed that I can't think of actually communicating with anyone not part of this move. But I'm eased by it, feel like we aren't going to relive some terrible familial drama. We'll be ok--maybe not super tight bestest friends, but ok.

Right, time to get back on the job. I've got my performance review today too and man, I hate that shit. Whatever. I'll get the same thing that I get every time--which is all good (because my boss hates doing them and she just gives everybody outstandings--she's so subversive). And tonight, more packing, more throwing shit away, more cleaning. Such is the life for me.