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On impulse, I bought a lemon Italian ice in the cafeteria today. I was standing in line, waiting to pay for my water, leaning against the ice cream cooler, and there was this big row of Italian ices staring up at me, paper-wrapped wooden spoons in an elastic-wrapped bundle on top. I couldn�t resist. When I got back to my desk, I pulled off the paper top and licked the underside, just like when I was a kid. The first taste put me in an instant summer mode. Mmm�.Who cares if there�s snow on the ground? Not me, not as long as I can get frozen lemony goodness for 60 cents and end my lunchtime feeling like I just paid a visit to the ice cream man�s truck.
I came back to my desk to find good news from Carla. Not only did she find a babysitter for this weekend, so she and her husband can join us for blender drinks, but she and I are also going to the scrapbook store Thursday. I am coming out of hibernation! Glad my friends get to play along.
Carla also mused in her email about getting along day-to-day in a world where terrible things happen all the time. She said that she felt like if the news doesn�t bother you, you�re heartless, but if you let it bother you too much, you can�t function. It made me reflective (Carla, forgive me for copying part of what I sent to you in here, but I�m still thinking on it, and didn�t want to lose it.)
When Melissa first disappeared, I chose to believe for the first couple days that she was going to appear and be fine. I didn't really deep down believe that, but my head insisted on that illusion. Once they found her bag and bicycle, I was sure she was in the woods there somewhere.
My friend Chris's father (not my roommate Chris�the Artboy�s old roommate) is a MA state police officer. Somehow, through him, the Artboy saw a copy of the police report from the scene when her body was recovered. He told me some of what it said, but not all of it, as he said he hoped I'd never have to know in detail what happened to her out there.
No matter. I read the papers. I know enough.
For the first month or so after she was found, I was a wreck. My cell phone was with me and on all the time. I had my keys clenched in my hand. I wouldn't leave the house alone. I didn't talk to anyone I didn't know. At all. Anywhere. The world was suspect. I would sit in bed at night if I was alone and jump at every noise, convinced someone was trying to get into the house.
I was out of control.
I had to find a way to put it aside, though, or it was going to drive me insane.
I guess it comes down to this: There are some very scary people in the world. Very scary, mixed-up, crazy people. I've been lucky enough in my life to never come in contact with any of them. Which hasn't been that hard. Most of the world population is basically okay, or at least apathetic enough to not bother with you. As for the rest of those people, you take the precautions you can against being in situations that allow you to become a victim. Being a woman makes those precautions harder. So does having someone small and inherently fairly helpless dependent on you to take care of them as well as yourself.
But you have to retain a precautionary trust in the goodness of the world. Not trust enough to let your guard down--that can put you in a place where you end up missing for days and buried in some anonymous woods, but enough that you don't walk around jumpy and frightened all the time.
It's a tough balance. But most of the time, I manage to basically find it.
Some people (like my mom) have questioned how, after having gone through what I did with Melissa, I could do something like meet people I know only over the internet for dinner, or put the details of my life up on the web in a journal that�s open for anyone to see. And I guess there�s always a chance that someone on the Boards, or that one of you people reading this on a day-to-day basis is a crazed lunatic who will go through all my posts or my archives to pull together enough information to stalk me. But I don�t think so.
In the meantime, I retain that precautionary trust. Tricia told me that the first time she met someone from the Boards, her mom was convinced she�d been set up by one man pretending to be five different women in an attempt to lure her into his trap. This wasn�t true. And all the people I�ve met have been wonderful, good, fun, interesting, non-crazed people.
Thank you for that, by the way.
~~~
Chris is out tonight�lucky for me! Of course, he�s out because his uncle died and he�ll be at the wake. Part of me feels badly that something good out of a death in his family. But he was a distant relative who�s been dying for months, and Chris barely knew him. On top of which, he�s been so disagreeable, short-tempered, rude and moody lately, he�s making it hard to be around him. And he never goes anywhere�he�s either at work or at home. I�ve chosen to deal with this by just not being in the apartment. This is not good for either of us.
Before Steve and Erica moved in, I had roommates that made my house an uncomfortable place for me to live. I refuse to go back to that. But I just don�t know what to do.
Tonight, though, I�ll put on my own music, grab one of my Lush bath bombs, take a bath and rejoice in the emptiness of my house.
Though I still feel bad about his uncle.
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