2001-08-03 - 8:35 p.m.
It's all about faith

The apartment is empty at last. Jocasta was on my doorstep at 8am this morning again ... the second to the last Friday she shall ever do so. It's the end of the 4-10's schedule, soon, you see. Then there was our visit to Pretzel, and dealing with my brother, and a phone call from Dad.

Jocasta's gone, Azash is at work, and I promised to go see my parents at Dad's company picnic on Sunday. And now it's silent again.

Breathe, I keep telling myself, just breathe. And then I see the mounds of newspapers waiting patiently at the door for Azash to help me carry to the recycling bins. The laundry hamper, full to overflowing. The garbage cans, needing emptying. The pile of things on my bedroom floor, dropped in a heap in recent days' exhaustion. The pile of bills that need taking care of. The dishes waiting in the sink.

Breathe, Shell, Breathe.

The calendar, reminding me that time creeps on. The sewing machine, standing mute in my room; my brother promised long ago to move his desk to his bedroom so I could move the machine out where I'd have room to use it. The stack of posters and picture frames, leaning at the foot of my bed; my brother promised long ago to help me nail them up on my walls one day.

It's not really his fault. If I bothered him about it for a few hours, he'd probably grumble, tell me "After this raid," and eventually sign off of EverQuest to be of use. I just can't bring myself to cause him that much irritation.

Breathe, Shell, Breathe.

I went in my room to tidy up just now, and surveyed the mess with the eye of a thwarted perfectionist; with a groan, I sank to the floor, and stretched out, looking up at the ceiling, one arm flung behind my head. My "motivation music", original Alanis, seeped from the stereo, and quite suddenly I wondered would happen, if someone were to walk in and find me dead in such a pose.

Slap! That was enough; low-ebbing hormones or no, the guardian of Common Sense buried in my brain began to laugh at me. Stupid Shell, silly Shell, melodramatic Shell. Haul your ass up off the carpet and get to work. Forget this pity-thyself nonsense.

And so I did. Heh. Someone recently said that my diary has been full of false cheer since I brought it back from its two month silence. It's not false cheer, my dear; it's the sneaky feeling that by wallowing in black emotions, I am being a silly, selfish bitch.

Sometimes the intervals of Common Sense are long, and life is good, with little to darken my emotions. Sometimes they're short, like now, when I hit a bad patch. I am lost in a sea of blackness, and only faith tells me the shore is still there, somewhere ahead.

In the end, faith is all it takes. I will not be conquered.