I can't sleep. Spinning about Andrew, what the funeral will be like, logistics of death. I'm also realizing that my grandmother's death in December was not that fucking long ago--two deaths in my family in four months' time. I think I've been holding it together too tightly--I need to freak out. The decision-making about the funeral and the celebration of his life have been slow, and everyone has been feeling an unsettling state of limbo. It's not fun. I wish I could've cancelled work and school this week to spend more time with my family, but I really couldn't do it.
This sucks.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Monday night at home
Spent all weekend down in San Jo with my family. It was alternately sad, boring, devastating, and sometimes poignant and illuminating. I had a lot of time with my sisters, J. and C. We talked about morbid things, like our own eventual deaths and Mom's eventual death. If there's one thing I know about how I wanna go out, it's that everyone needs to drink good booze at the party.
Astrid's studying for her oral exam, and DJ is here, borrowing a computer to write his paper on the filmic representations of Ulysses. I should be studying too, but I'm distracted (I'd like to say because of Andrew's death, which is certainly true as well, but I'll admit that I'm distracted, per yoozsh).
It's amazing, the tonal change that comes with death. It gets one to thinking about the eventual deaths of everyone, and about the deaths that have already come, deaths that were expected, deaths that traumatized. The concentric circles of grief spiral outward and expand to cover everything. I'm normally a body preoccupied with it. I might work with bereaved folks in my practicum next year. I'm probably writing my thesis about it, and I'm currently reading an amazing book about it. I don't consider myself a morbid person; I'm pretty fucking joyful, as a matter of fact. But what can I say? I find death compelling in its terrifyingness, and I embrace the chance to learn from it.
Every time death comes for someone I love, it completely humbles me. Everything I thought I knew, killed. I search for the healing from my dad's death, over thirty years ago, for which I was completely not cognizant, being two and all. The relief comes in tiny bits, macerated in my tears and laughter over decades and decades.
My mom and I had a remarkable conversation on the phone today. Andrew's death is bringing up stuff about Dad's for her, stuff she hasn't fully processed thirty years later, either. She said to me today that she is tired of death, and doesn't want to see anyone else die. Which implied, of course, that she'd rather die than live through another death. I, myself, am bracing for the experience of watching many more of my loved ones die, because, despite the pain of loss, I very much want to live and thrive and survive for a lot longer. But I guess when you're 70 years old, and you buried your husband at age 38, and then years later buried your father, and then your mother, your nephew, your best friends, and your lover, it's really enough. She said she doesn't know what she believes, and it causes her anxiety. Will she be reunited with her loved ones in some sort of cloudy paradise, or will she simply cease to exist? Will she make bedfellows with the worms? Will she live again?
Bed time for me, the kind replete with breathing, dreams, being draped in the arms of the most amazing girl in the world. I'll try to make it til tomorrow, I will.
xo
Bree
Astrid's studying for her oral exam, and DJ is here, borrowing a computer to write his paper on the filmic representations of Ulysses. I should be studying too, but I'm distracted (I'd like to say because of Andrew's death, which is certainly true as well, but I'll admit that I'm distracted, per yoozsh).
It's amazing, the tonal change that comes with death. It gets one to thinking about the eventual deaths of everyone, and about the deaths that have already come, deaths that were expected, deaths that traumatized. The concentric circles of grief spiral outward and expand to cover everything. I'm normally a body preoccupied with it. I might work with bereaved folks in my practicum next year. I'm probably writing my thesis about it, and I'm currently reading an amazing book about it. I don't consider myself a morbid person; I'm pretty fucking joyful, as a matter of fact. But what can I say? I find death compelling in its terrifyingness, and I embrace the chance to learn from it.
Every time death comes for someone I love, it completely humbles me. Everything I thought I knew, killed. I search for the healing from my dad's death, over thirty years ago, for which I was completely not cognizant, being two and all. The relief comes in tiny bits, macerated in my tears and laughter over decades and decades.
My mom and I had a remarkable conversation on the phone today. Andrew's death is bringing up stuff about Dad's for her, stuff she hasn't fully processed thirty years later, either. She said to me today that she is tired of death, and doesn't want to see anyone else die. Which implied, of course, that she'd rather die than live through another death. I, myself, am bracing for the experience of watching many more of my loved ones die, because, despite the pain of loss, I very much want to live and thrive and survive for a lot longer. But I guess when you're 70 years old, and you buried your husband at age 38, and then years later buried your father, and then your mother, your nephew, your best friends, and your lover, it's really enough. She said she doesn't know what she believes, and it causes her anxiety. Will she be reunited with her loved ones in some sort of cloudy paradise, or will she simply cease to exist? Will she make bedfellows with the worms? Will she live again?
Bed time for me, the kind replete with breathing, dreams, being draped in the arms of the most amazing girl in the world. I'll try to make it til tomorrow, I will.
xo
Bree
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Rest in Peace, Beautiful Andrew
My mom called me this morning with the "you'd better sit down" kind of news. My cousin Andrew is dead. His body was found by some kids in a park in San Jose. We don't know the cause of death yet--may have been exposure (it was cold, and he was without a jacket or sleeping bag like he's been so many nights in the last few years), may have been an overdose (he'd been off heroin for months, but I'm guessing a fix at his normal dose might've done it), may have been a recurrence of the alcohol-induced pancreatitis that'd almost killed him a couple times before.
Some of you might remember the discouraging stories about my cousin that have emerged over the last couple years. He's been walking around without proper diagnosis nor treatment for several years, getting more and more paranoid, isolated, and depressed. He most likely had paranoid schizophrenia, and the delusions of conspiracy and being under attack ruled his consciousness to the point that he wouldn't eat food offered him (poison), couldn't sleep in the homes of people who loved him (he was constantly afraid of being gassed), wouldn't take showers (he was convinced that whoever put the toxins on his body wanted them to wash into his body) or accept offers of clothing or help with his mental health (of course drugs or any kind of intervention were all part of the conspiracy). The safety and solace that we offered to him were received ambivalently at the very best, but often, in his delusional perspective, seemed malicious, poisonous, murderous.
He was never violent--only turned terribly inward to his despondence and sadness and fear. He was an amazing blues guitarist, but hardly picked up an instrument in the last two years because he was so defeated. His life was (I can't believe I'm using the past tense) emblematic of how tragic the loss of someone young can be: he was boundlessly creative and talented and funny and kind, and by the end, he had no idea that he was capable of beauty and happiness. We all knew that it had the potential to end this way, but we all prayed that he would finally decide to reach out for help. The only good that will come of his death is that he's not suffering anymore. But I can't say the same for Aunt Rhoda, or anyone else who loved him. I can't imagine the horror of watching your kid deteriorate and die like this. It's just so wrong.
Good bye, Anj. I love you, man.
Some of you might remember the discouraging stories about my cousin that have emerged over the last couple years. He's been walking around without proper diagnosis nor treatment for several years, getting more and more paranoid, isolated, and depressed. He most likely had paranoid schizophrenia, and the delusions of conspiracy and being under attack ruled his consciousness to the point that he wouldn't eat food offered him (poison), couldn't sleep in the homes of people who loved him (he was constantly afraid of being gassed), wouldn't take showers (he was convinced that whoever put the toxins on his body wanted them to wash into his body) or accept offers of clothing or help with his mental health (of course drugs or any kind of intervention were all part of the conspiracy). The safety and solace that we offered to him were received ambivalently at the very best, but often, in his delusional perspective, seemed malicious, poisonous, murderous.
He was never violent--only turned terribly inward to his despondence and sadness and fear. He was an amazing blues guitarist, but hardly picked up an instrument in the last two years because he was so defeated. His life was (I can't believe I'm using the past tense) emblematic of how tragic the loss of someone young can be: he was boundlessly creative and talented and funny and kind, and by the end, he had no idea that he was capable of beauty and happiness. We all knew that it had the potential to end this way, but we all prayed that he would finally decide to reach out for help. The only good that will come of his death is that he's not suffering anymore. But I can't say the same for Aunt Rhoda, or anyone else who loved him. I can't imagine the horror of watching your kid deteriorate and die like this. It's just so wrong.
Good bye, Anj. I love you, man.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Ranking
Astrid and I just wasted two hours (a collective four!) ranking movies on Netflix. We finally succumbed to membership after the unfortunate incident in which we ended up shelling out $30.00 in late fees for a single Buffy disc. Ranking, listing, and otherwise documenting one's tastes and proclivities is such a sexy wormhole to fall into. We could've actually watched one of the movies we rented in that time. Gah!
kisses,
Bree
P.S. Dax is whining about not being included in my Cast list yet. I think she needs to do something noteworthy first. ;)
kisses,
Bree
P.S. Dax is whining about not being included in my Cast list yet. I think she needs to do something noteworthy first. ;)
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Anxiety or Indigestion?
I feel happy and motivated for the new term* at school. I feel cozy and homey and lusciously fulfilled in my new home with Astrid. So what is this rumbly, tense feeling in my stomach? It might be that I've applied to three sites for clinical internships, have been rejected by two and am waiting on the other still, while most of my classmates already have placements for next year. It might be that I hate bookkeeping and I can't believe I still have to show up and work tomorrow, Friday, and every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the next several months, and that even though I'm quitting all my paid gigs come summer in order to make time for school, internship, and thesis, I really should continue to work 'cause I'm gonna be broke-ass-broke next year.
Or maybe it's the cheeseburger, fries, and shake I had for dinner between classes tonight.
_____________________
*My graduate program refers to terms as "trimesters," because we have three per school year. It's essentially a quarter system with no summer quarter, thus, the "trimester" system. As I tend to associate that word with pregnancy, you'll understand why I usually refer to the demarcation of time at New College by "term" rather than by "trimester." Though, as many friends have joked, after the third trimester of my second year, I'll have myself a bouncing baby master's degree.
Or maybe it's the cheeseburger, fries, and shake I had for dinner between classes tonight.
_____________________
*My graduate program refers to terms as "trimesters," because we have three per school year. It's essentially a quarter system with no summer quarter, thus, the "trimester" system. As I tend to associate that word with pregnancy, you'll understand why I usually refer to the demarcation of time at New College by "term" rather than by "trimester." Though, as many friends have joked, after the third trimester of my second year, I'll have myself a bouncing baby master's degree.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Chicken Breast Envy
What would happen if I actually bothered to write a little snippet on a daily or almost-daily basis? Would my entries all suck? Hmm...
Tonight, I got home from work, and DJ was here, having beers with Astrid. A was prepped to make her deee-licicious saffron rice pilaf, but needed onions and parsley from the store. We'd pulled out a couple o' skinless chicken breasts, and I was gonna make my yummy Michael Chiarello recipe, except healthier (usually use the whole chicken, which is fan-fucking-finger-licking-tastic). So I went to ye ol' supermarket across the way and picked up the ingredients for the rice and some salad things and some more skinless breasts.
The meal was tastey! I'm pleased to report that the healthy way is darned good (but certainly not as wonderful as the whole, crispy bird, with all that mouth-watering fresh rosemary, lemon zest, and salt encrusting and sealing the skin so the juices are bursting with every...oh god, make it stop! Yeah, the skinless breasts were...pretty good.
We three then watched the next installment in the Buffy marathon, on disc two of Season 3, Band Candy. Great episode (link has spoilers).
Should go to bed now.
'Night!
--Bree
Tonight, I got home from work, and DJ was here, having beers with Astrid. A was prepped to make her deee-licicious saffron rice pilaf, but needed onions and parsley from the store. We'd pulled out a couple o' skinless chicken breasts, and I was gonna make my yummy Michael Chiarello recipe, except healthier (usually use the whole chicken, which is fan-fucking-finger-licking-tastic). So I went to ye ol' supermarket across the way and picked up the ingredients for the rice and some salad things and some more skinless breasts.
The meal was tastey! I'm pleased to report that the healthy way is darned good (but certainly not as wonderful as the whole, crispy bird, with all that mouth-watering fresh rosemary, lemon zest, and salt encrusting and sealing the skin so the juices are bursting with every...oh god, make it stop! Yeah, the skinless breasts were...pretty good.
We three then watched the next installment in the Buffy marathon, on disc two of Season 3, Band Candy. Great episode (link has spoilers).
Should go to bed now.
'Night!
--Bree
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Revolt!
My body is revolting, in both senses of that word: Astrid and I rolled back into town at 3:00 am Monday morning from an amazing spring break road trip down the coast and through the desert (more to come on that). I then had about four hours of sleep before having to work Monday, and then collapse and wake and start my third quarter at school on Tuesday. That morning, a bad sore throat came on, which I proceeded to medicate with mass quantities of ibuprofen. By yesterday, the pain not having abated, and with the additional symptoms of an annoying ringing in my right ear and head congestion that was making everyone’s voices, including my own, sound like echoing effects box noise, I decided to call in sick to work and head over to Kaiser to get screened for strep throat and ear infection.
So I went in, and the doctor was pretty convinced it wasn’t strep (no fever, and my throat was “pink” but not “red and beefy” (I loved this description) but we took a swab anyway, just to be sure. I did, however, have an ear infection, so I couldn’t escape the prescription for antibiotics (counting the days til the yeast infection hits). I also talked to the doc about some other chronic problems I’ve been having, most important of which are an on/off chronic cough, which I have been attributing to allergies or my acid reflux, and a recent wheezing with exhalation I’ve noticed in the last couple months. She ordered up a chest x-ray and some lung tests for me, and I spent the next few hours making additional co-payments and waiting around for the lab, the radiologist, and my scripts for amoxicillin and a generic for Flonase, as an experiment in seeing whether a post-nasal drip is causing my cough (“Flonase,” by the way, has got to be one of the most disgusting brand names ever! Every time I hear that word, all I can think of is mayonnaise made of snot).
I got home from the doc in the afternoon, still feeling shitty, but glad that I’d taken care of stuff. I watched The Big Lebowski, a movie I have always enjoyed, but had a hard time making sense of, and as it’s a movie that Astrid and DJ often refer to, I charged myself with becoming fluent. I can now say that I finally get how clever and funny it is, and how every seemingly random and unprovoked action leads to a necessary turn in the plot. I think I'll watch it many more times, actually. Unfortunately, throughout the day, another very annoying symptom was manifesting: I had managed to contract an eye infection. It couldn’t have showed itself when I had audience with the doctor, right? So, on top of the sore throat, ear infection and the lesser symptoms of coughing, snotty nose, etc., I also have to deal with a gunky, disgusting eye. Fun weekend.
DJ and I were supposed to see Ted Leo tonight, and I’m really bummed to be missing it. Loud rock show + ear infection = not so nice. DJ made the very tongue-in-cheek remark that the reverb effect in my head from the infection might make the show “trippier” – which we both agreed might have been compelling at Laser Floyd, but probably not an indie-politico-punk show. I probably also have to miss my dear friend Magna’s party tomorrow night in celebration of her white coat ceremony. She’s a D.O. student entering into her clinical training, and she and the gf, Dori, are having a wine party to encourage early staining of the white coat. I can’t believe I have to miss it. I may feel a bit better tomorrow, but I can’t quite picture myself socializing successfully with a pounding ear and a squinty, dripping eye. Great company I’ll make, no doubt.
Instead, extra Buffy episodes and finally writing a blog entry – woot!
xo - Bree
So I went in, and the doctor was pretty convinced it wasn’t strep (no fever, and my throat was “pink” but not “red and beefy” (I loved this description) but we took a swab anyway, just to be sure. I did, however, have an ear infection, so I couldn’t escape the prescription for antibiotics (counting the days til the yeast infection hits). I also talked to the doc about some other chronic problems I’ve been having, most important of which are an on/off chronic cough, which I have been attributing to allergies or my acid reflux, and a recent wheezing with exhalation I’ve noticed in the last couple months. She ordered up a chest x-ray and some lung tests for me, and I spent the next few hours making additional co-payments and waiting around for the lab, the radiologist, and my scripts for amoxicillin and a generic for Flonase, as an experiment in seeing whether a post-nasal drip is causing my cough (“Flonase,” by the way, has got to be one of the most disgusting brand names ever! Every time I hear that word, all I can think of is mayonnaise made of snot).
I got home from the doc in the afternoon, still feeling shitty, but glad that I’d taken care of stuff. I watched The Big Lebowski, a movie I have always enjoyed, but had a hard time making sense of, and as it’s a movie that Astrid and DJ often refer to, I charged myself with becoming fluent. I can now say that I finally get how clever and funny it is, and how every seemingly random and unprovoked action leads to a necessary turn in the plot. I think I'll watch it many more times, actually. Unfortunately, throughout the day, another very annoying symptom was manifesting: I had managed to contract an eye infection. It couldn’t have showed itself when I had audience with the doctor, right? So, on top of the sore throat, ear infection and the lesser symptoms of coughing, snotty nose, etc., I also have to deal with a gunky, disgusting eye. Fun weekend.
DJ and I were supposed to see Ted Leo tonight, and I’m really bummed to be missing it. Loud rock show + ear infection = not so nice. DJ made the very tongue-in-cheek remark that the reverb effect in my head from the infection might make the show “trippier” – which we both agreed might have been compelling at Laser Floyd, but probably not an indie-politico-punk show. I probably also have to miss my dear friend Magna’s party tomorrow night in celebration of her white coat ceremony. She’s a D.O. student entering into her clinical training, and she and the gf, Dori, are having a wine party to encourage early staining of the white coat. I can’t believe I have to miss it. I may feel a bit better tomorrow, but I can’t quite picture myself socializing successfully with a pounding ear and a squinty, dripping eye. Great company I’ll make, no doubt.
Instead, extra Buffy episodes and finally writing a blog entry – woot!
xo - Bree
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