~ Friday, July 15, 2005 ~
My Plate Runneth Over
I've stated from time to time that this blog is more for my own amusement than anyone else's, which is a useful way of reminding myself not to get all show-off-ish, nor to to beat myself up for not posting, but I guess I'm momentarily going to act counter to that mission statement for the sake of making a public service announcement.
I'm not dead. Not even a little bit. I just have a whole lot of stuff on my plate right now, most notably the search for a new place to live and the other search for a job to allow me to keep the place once I find it. (Yes, it's true, I have to leave my beloved Jarah, and it makes me all teary.) And of course, once I find an ad that holds potential, I have to compose an informative, concise, friendly e-mail carefully crafted to respond directly to the poster's original ad, convincing them of why they want me for their employee/roommate, all without sounding like I'm trying to hard (aye, there's the rub). So after long hours of doing that, I've usually had enough of sitting at a computer and reading and writing, and I'm remarkably unready to remain seated and write a long bloggy post in classic (i.e. expansive and overly detailed) Miriam style.
So that's what I'm doing and that's why I've not been posting about my wonderful awesome fantastic blissful trip to the UK with Graham, nor even about anything else. Besides, Graham went on a blogblitz and threw all the pictures and all the stories, and even all the limericks, up onto his blog within a day or two of his returning home (and mad props to him for that) so I figure almost everyone who knows about my blog knew about his long before, or at least knows about it now, and reads it, so I didn't think I'd need to worry about people wondering whether I arrived back safely from the UK.
Except today, at Tokio, I saw the King of Prussia for the first time since returning from the trip, and for a guy who's usually remarkably chill and laid back, he seemed particularly excited to see me. Why? Because in spite of the rational side of his head telling him it was ridiculous, he thought maybe I'd perished in the bombings. (He was "bummed", he said. For the sake of my own fragile ego I am pretending he was demonstrating his skill with understatement.) Not only that, but he'd also already made it through the five-stage grief process, he said, and now he had to go and undo all his hard work...only to have to go through it all over again when I move away. Apparently the ungrieving process is 5-fold too, because even by the end of the night, he was still in denial that I hadn't died.
What made it even worse for me was that I'd been thinking about calling or e-mailing him to find out why he wasn't out dancing the Thursday before, when Graham was here in Philly and we both went to Tokio, but I never actually called him. If I had, I could have saved him a lot of grief, and realizing this, I felt terrible. And he doesn't read this, because he's vaguely antiblog or something, which I understand because I was that way too for a long time, but I just want to throw this up there in case there's someone else out there who does read this and is currently sitting shiva for me or whatever. Once more: I'm not dead. I'm just busy. Thank you for caring.
Current Music: Too Darn Hot (still in my head from being played at Tokio tonight)
~ prattled by Miriam at 2:08 a.m. [+]
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