stakebait | Nov. 6th, 2004

I drank wine, I ate cupcakes. I cried in a diner. I saw good friends. I'm not ready to talk about it, and I can't talk about anything else. I have guilt, grief, anger, denial, distraction, depression, resolution, all randomly cycling into one another. The only constants are gallows humor and bland mushy white foods. Old friends will remember this behavior pattern from my last breakup. Apparently I've broken up with the election. Who knew it was a relationship? I thought I was just getting screwed.

There are still good things happening. The day after, it was almost like after 9/11 -- strangers were talking to each other in the elevators, in the restaurants, on the streets. Giggling is good, and chocolate, and the casting game. The first three kids who read The Middle Prince all liked it. Someone sang a poem I wrote at a con when I wasn't even there.

I came out of the subway last night and found two homeless people sleeping on the platform with their ankles entwined, like a heart. I can't explain why that hit me so hard. I think it's because they weren't sleeping back to back, to defend against unpleasant surprises. It was worth it to be vulnerable to wake up to each other's face. And when I got upstairs, someone was playing a haunting flute.

Edited to add: I'm even later with this announcement than usual, but episode 5 of