talking about the many, many friends I lost to AIDS. Great choking sobs as I tried to give some cohesion to an essentially disjointed story--scraps of memories: too many funerals, too many pets we had to find new homes for. My mother giving me money to go buy another "good" black dress from the thrift store, so that I could take the funereal one I had been wearing to the cleaners. The silence that would descend at dinner parties when certain names came up in the conversation. "Anybody seen Steve L. lately?" And then that chilling quiet. Eric, my shrink, is a poet--so he stayed with me. "I don't know where this is leading," I told him at one point. "It doesn't have to lead anywhere, just let it out," he said. "Let it out." Afterwards I was exhausted. Stopped in the bakery/cafe downstairs to get coffee, but they were having some kind of half-price burger day and the place was packed. I ended up fleeing. Bought a small French press coffee pot in the kitchen store instead. Took the bus and made coffee at home. Raked leaves. Called one of my former students to talk about Zizek.
Now it's time for bed. I've been reading Skip to sleep at night. Right now, we're reading Anne Sexton's fairytale poems Transformations.
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