"How We Cheered For More..."

In my continuing pursuit of early death, I gave a ride to-day to a man whose car had run out of gas just off the highway. It was pouring rain and he was behind me in the line at the pharmacy to buy a gas can, and I asked him if he wouldn't like a ride so he wouldn't have to get sopping, and he said yes, so I drove him back to his car. He was very nice. He said it was his daughter's really and the needle didn't go all the way down on the gas gauge, so he hadn't realise how low he was until he ran right out.

I said good-bye to my people to-day. Only Carrie cried. She said she was already feeling miserable and now she didn't know what she was going to do, and I swear--I swear that was when I thought maybe I'd take it back, never mind the hour drive, and keep on coming, but I was so tired--I was so tired--and I just hugged and hugged her instead and told her how much I'd miss her. Sarah, who's her roommate, gave me her cell phone number, so maybe if I call I can talk to them both.

Reading about Arthuriana always makes me cry, makes my heart rock so hard I can't keep it steady, and the tragedy is overwhelming. War is so breaking, and I lose track of time periods--Dan, our maintenance man at work, is a Vietnam vet. He told me that his wife says he still talks to other soldiers in his sleep.

The sorrow I feel at this makes me wish I could pull it out of myself in a handful and hold it and rest it and keep it warm until it eased. Why can't I?

(also I'm getting sick. I have the most horrible sore throat imaginable. You see how petty I am.)