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Tuesday, Jul. 16, 2002 / 9:52 p.m. ~What Do I Do Next?~ I'm still trying to transfer all my files. I condensed some email, and in the process of being there again, on the old hard drive, I read Jon's email letter. I'm glad I did. It was long, it was filled with judgment. And I responded. I tried to tell myself I didn't want to, I had no desire at all for further communication, but I had to tell him what an idiot he's been, how awful to rule someone out for the reasons he gave. He thinks I have deep-seated negativity and unhappiness. Imagine that. And in the end I told him what I love in this life, and in that moment I felt self knowledge, joy, confidence, and completeness. In describing to him who I know I am, what kind of person I am, and what I offer anyone who takes the time to see inside me, I fell in love with me just a bit. I found out today that Skipper is in 'failing health'. I called Mark as soon as I got the email - I call Mark at random now. He is the person I tell things to, he is the one I talk to, and I constantly worry he minds. He says he doesn't, but I call him at work, while I'm at work, I have his number memorized, I call and just start talking, and he's always been receptive. He listens, and pays attention, I think, and offers advice. Email from the action center list serv said Skipper wouldn't be participating in the 9/11 conference, the symposium, or whatever people had been planning (what was it going to be?), due to 'failing health'. So I wrote to this writer, What?! What do you mean, those are strong words, Skipper is a cancer survivor, what do you mean to say? And he wrote back that he'd tried to be delicate, but Skipper needs those who care about him around him right now..... I felt weird the rest of the day. I still don't know what to do. I was going to write to him just now, but the bulk of my email is still on the old hard drive, too big to transfer without breaking it up, and his address is not in my address book, I can't just call him, not yet, it's been too long since we've spoken. Is this a time to be worrying about breaking the ice? The letter I wrote to Jon was so long, maybe I don't have any more left in me right now. I might be all written out, at least physically. Heed the warning on my new keyboard: "WARNING: Some experts believe that use of any keyboard may cause serious injury." I type all day. I type all night. Something's got to give. I'll sleep on it and see what I come up with first thing tomorrow morning. That seems to be when I'm most inclined to sort it all out. Right now I'm happy, sad, confused, seeing very clearly, deeply depressed, yet content enough to purr. It's a mixed bag. Overall? Pleased with myself. And thinking of what's next. What do I do next? Cost of the War in Iraq
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