an xiety
i’ve resisted this for some reason. now i give in. witness!: margaret cho’s blog. she has a beautiful tribute to elliott smith, who everyone in america and his mother must realize recused himself yesterday.
when i was little, one of my good friends told me a story repeatedly about her aunt who stepped in front of a metro train. the story drove me crazy cuz the aunt’s name seemed to be ester — was my friend telling me this story to prepare me for my own future? was she dooming me?
turns out the aunt’s name was hester, or hesty, or zesty, maybe, something different enuf from mere ester that i didn’t need to worry.
that is my first association with suicide. i am very, very lucky.
lately i’ve been having dreams where i’m so tense i wake up scared i’ll twist my neck again and have to drag my sheepish self back to the chiropractor. it doesn’t make sense to me. in waking life, i’m calm — honestly — even happy. in dreams, the small stuff i don’t usually sweat is all there to haunt me.
also, via the nytimes, another kind of coming out altogether. i guess i’m glad for these women, that they can be proud of themselves and flaunt their bodies, regardless of what methods they used to obtain them. the suicide rate for women with breast implants, however, is astronomical. reading the article, particularly the doctor’s warning that your life may not change that much, i could understand why.