Suicide group was, er, fun? Well, we sit in a circle and wring kleenex. I am actually pissed at my brother right now for offing himself. It has wrecked my health and it has been really expensive, what with the plane trips and visits to doctors and therapists and extra supplements and bottles of port consumed and so forth. I am so not ready to forgive him. I may be there one day, I'm sure. When I was driving tonight to the meeting, I was thinking "I don't need this group, I'm fine really, I just have a little back problem and I can't sleep and I am angry at almost everyone." So I told them and they so got me, they nodded and wiped their eyes and laughed in this weird, comforting way. The uses of grief. The novel.
I also realized that I cannot write in a crowded coffee bar. Some people can, I don't get it. I'm afraid someone is looking over my shoulder and reading my half-baked stuff, the stuff I write when I am getting wound up. And I took my new mac which is all white and shiny and I am such a dork because I don't know how to use most of it. Which reminds me, I am going back to the apple store VOLUNTARILY tomorrow so I can have a session with a blue shirt person who can show me what all the little hoppy icons can do, whohoo. Maybe I'll see my savior Evan. Maybe one day again I will write a poem. For now I read my stuff. I like to. I'm pretty good. And if you want, you can go to qarrtsiluni and hear me read, way creepy.