I have so much to tell you I don’t know where to begin.
On Saturday, I wore the dress that belonged to my dead grandmother that I took from the closet that still has all her clothes in it during the summer. I wore it all day. On Monday, my dad told me he had a dream about her and that it was like she was alive again. I couldn’t help but correlate it to my wearing her dress, first as a joke, but then my mom got on board with it and I thought maybe there was something in it. I am calling on the spirits.
She believes in all the supernatural stuff like that. Ever since all the grief started. With some of the signs she’s been getting, who wouldn’t? After her father died, there was this yellow bird always at the window, and after her cousin’s death, it came back. Just flying straight at the window and fluttering there like it wanted to get in. I remember her telling me how unnatural it was, how there was something human in it. How it seemed like a message. The night before her father died, there was the same movie on the TV as the night before her mother died. She remembers because she watched it all the way through. On the day my grandfather passed away, she was interpreting for someone over the phone who had the same first and last name as her mother. Before she was diagnosed with her illness, her mother told her she had it in a dream. She didn’t listen. She didn’t go see a doctor until a month later. I’m telling you, the woman has something. A connection. I hope I get to have that kind of a connection. I want to believe in things like that, but I think maybe it is thinking something is a sign at all that makes it a sign of anything.
Here’s some pictures of me in the dress so we all know what we’re talking about:
The shows are over. I sobbed through my whole last show. It was mostly pride. At creating something like this. It was pure and unadulterated and speechless and overwhelming pride that reduced me to a wet melting icicle soft candle wax sopping mess that probably distracted everyone because every time I laughed, I just started sobbing more.
On Friday while I was driving home from IHOP with my friend Alyssa, we drove past a white van pulled over to the side of the road by police and we were joking, “What if it was Callum?” and it straight up fucking was. Still in his skull make-up. Apparently his car broke down. My first thought was that he was stopped for looking like a teenage serial killer. I texted him as soon as I got home to make sure he was okay and he was just furious about having to talk to the police in his skull make-up and that now his parents were mad at him for his car breaking down even though it wasn’t his fault and he was talking about how this is something that would only happen to him– he called it a ‘me problem.’ And I was thinking about how I also have problems that would only happen to me. Like how I am fairly sure two people might now have a crush on me because I’m a stupid Libra and I flirt with everyone and I like them both a lot. I hate myself.
Colin (oh no, Prisoner 8612’s name comes out) ended up coming to opening night which made me really happy. He told me he forced his brother to sleep over a friend’s house just so he could come. And that he couldn’t stop smiling when I used a song he showed to me as my opening song. Then on Monday he brought me ice cream to school. That he stole from work. Then I couldn’t stop smiling. What is happening to me.
I really hope we have a snow day tomorrow, because if I can get out of both my college interview and my call-backs, I will be very very happy. Also I’m really sick. (Update there’s a snow day, boo-yah, praise the Lord, and Hallelujah. Amen.)
This blog is becoming something of a diary and I don’t care even a little bit. There’s something so pure in being completely unfiltered.
I saw Karen for the first time in seven years on Saturday night and I’ve barely reflected on it. It was so surreal and so normal.
I have this urge to read as much as I can but I have so much other work to do.
My reverse schedule is making me lazy.
Colin was just telling me about this dream he had about me, it’s the bizarrest thing I’ve ever heard and I really hope it’s some kind of a prophecy:
Also, since I was waiting forever for my parents to pick me up, I was asked to come back in and read my sonnet again but drunkenly this time. I think they really liked it. I was cackling uncontrollably the whole time. Now I really want to play a drunken character.