For Querida, who lived longer and better than anyone expected, and surprised us even more when she died.

For five years I wondered
what song I would sing at your funeral.
For five years I waited
in grimy hospital chairs and sterile rooms,
making your terminal setlist in my head.
I could sing you ‘The Wind Beneath My Wings’,
but you would hate that. I could sing you
‘Forever Young’ but more accurate would be
‘Only young once in a while’.
I worry that you were only young when I wasn’t.
I could sing you ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ and pretend
you were some kind of devout Methodist, but you
were the one I came to when I didn’t know
what to do about boys, and when Cecily got pregnant,
and when my parents were just a few years too old to handle.
You read Anne Rice novels and Harlequins and loved
Poison and Ozzy Ozbourne and, if truth be told, you
were so up in the air most days, that you
were probably pinching God’s toes black and blue.
You loved Him, and He loved you, but it’s too late to pretend piety.
I could sing ‘I Will Remember You’ but
that would only make the ladies from the church board
feel guilty that I, at nineteen, was the only one who
had any recent memories of you at all, not that even I
called you enough towards the end of things.  Because I didn't.
But I was the one who would walk your kids home from school
when you were too sick, and bring you salted watermelon,
a food preference I wouldn’t understand until you’d died,
and it would become all I could stomach, just like you.
I could sing you ‘Sweet Love’, but you and Eric
loved like burning oil and boiling water.
If I were being honest, which I guess I shouldn’t be
at your funeral, I would sing ‘I Knew This Story
Would Break My Heart’, because I did.
After five years of you, querida, I knew you didn’t intend
to stay for the whole party. And I knew I’d never
sing at your funeral. And I knew I wouldn't be
there for you at the end like I should have been.  And I knew that
drinking wine with you would turn into drinking alone, staring at the wall,
a glass dangled loosely in my hand, listening to Aimee Mann
or James Taylor breaking through drunken recordings of your
voice in my head. Just yesterday morning, they let me know
you were gone, [Rachel, the men in this town will]
put an end to you. I walked out this morning,
and drew a picture of you, you and your anchor tattoo [of baby feet that I got at
Ozzfest last year, one for Gabey and one for Mary, and one for Anthony]
That’s how I knew this story would [break your heart in two if you let them].
That’s how I knew this story would break my heart.

Love you, pup.

My dog, Ripken, was put to sleep this weekend.  He was a weird dog, to be sure.  As a puppy he was a pain in the ass and all of my friends were either scared of him or annoyed by him.  He barked too much and too loud, he was a tad aggressive, and often, even right after a bath, he smelled funny.  Mark once used a $30 bottle of mom's shampoo to wash him with, to make him smell better.  Essentially, Mark payed thirty bucks for the dog to smell halfway decent for about four minutes.  He ate my socks, chewed on the furniture, and often peed on the carpet. But he was a good dog, he was my dog, and I loved him.  He was very loyal to the family, and once even defended our home during a break-in, scaring the intruder nearly to death (and who wouldn't be scared of such a huge dog!).  He always seemed to know, in the way that a family dog does, when anyone was sad or lonely.  If he thought you were feeling low, he'd sit on your feet (if you were on the couch) or on your lap, or just curl up with you, and lie there with a look on his face that said "Oh, I know.  Trust me, I know."  And I really think he did.  That dog was there for me during some of my darkest days when people just didn't cut it.  I got in a lot of extra cuddle-time with him when I was home last, but I still wish I'd gotten to say a proper goodbye to my pup.  He's better off now, and he's no longer in pain, but still.  I'll miss him.

5 a.m. on one of the Mondays that are weeks from spring.

I think it feels almost like spring because I'm going to be alright. Because its certainly not the weather, not the sun or the trees. But still. It feels like it's almost spring.

I feel like this was a big weekend...

...but being all sick I missed a lot.

First things first.  It looks like, within the next week,  or two, I'll have two jobs instead of none.  Hopefully.  One as a babysitter and one at a restaurant, hopefully.  Neither is totally official yet.  But I think that there's a good chance that both will pan out. Which is great actually, since I don't know how to manage free time.  Best to fill my hours with things to do so that I'm forced to find time for things like homework and laundry.  Right now though, I'm glad to have the freedom to sit home with this horrible headcold and mope about my sniffles.

My mom is, as we speak, moving into her new apartment.  It's strange that my family is moving and I have just been sitting home with my tissues and will be largely unaffected until I visit them next. I may not be going down for spring break this year, what with hopefully starting to work again next week, so I'm not really sure when that will be.  I do miss them though.  I'm pretty sad that I'm not flying down yet.  And if I really don't go down, I'm sad that I won't have the chance to speed down the highway with Bridget in the shitmobile.  In fact, I may never have that chance again, as it seems the shitmobile is no more! Mom has a new (to her) car to go with her new apartment! Her sisters drove down in her mom's previous vehicle this weekend to give it to her, and stayed to help with the move.  They're the best! And so is G-ba for finding such a generous way to recycle her car.  G-ba, by the way, apparently replaced that car with a sexier model, a fire-engine-red number with all the bells and whistles.  Snaps for G-ba!

My own life has been its usual self.  A smattering of homework, some scattered naps, and a few good nights of hanging out with the gang.  Friday night was great. We got to see Marissa for the first time in a while, and that was nice.  Rich left for VT to go see his best friend Kate around ten thirty, and at eleven Ben threatened to tickle me.  This led to about ten minutes of hysterics, and I only came out of the corner when Ben pinky swore he'd never tickle me ever as long as we live.  I'm petrified of being tickled.  Completely petrified.  After that, Tim defeated a bottle of rum (which has now been given a place of honor above the stove, like a drinking trophy), and somewhere in the middle he and Max had a juggling contest. All in all, a success.  Then I woke up Saturday with a vicious and vengeful headcold.  I suspect I got it on a job interview I had on Thursday--the kids had been sick all week, and my interview to be their sitter consisted of hanging out with them and their mom for an hour.  New kids, new germs.  Ah well.  So Saturday I intended not to go out, but Bridge, Ben and Mims wouldn't hear of that, and I allowed myself to be talked into going to Lisa's, where I essentially took a nap while my friends played a board game.  Then we met DanWhite, and as the hilarity began to ensue, I went home and watched "My Fair Wedding" with Kayleigh until sleep.  Today was Superbowl Sunday, and I spent it largely hanging out listening to music in my room.  I went to the store and bought some comfort food, and I had Bridge and Anna over of course, but mostly just stayed in bed.  Then Kati and I hung out for a while.  Then, or rather now, I'm doing this. 

And now for something completely different.

Easter Eggs and Hidden Tracks.  These things make me insanely happy.  I mean really.  Little extras at the end of movies, weird quirks in computer programs, and CD tracks you are only likely to find if you first buy a real CD, then play the CD on in an actual stereo, and fall asleep for quite a while. I get really psyched about them, and when I go see a movie I'm likely to sit through the credits just for the chance to catch one.  If every director put them into his movies, they'd be less special, but I do wish a few more of them would consider how happy they make me. Harry Potter and POTC tend to be good about them :)  For a funny example, type about:mozilla into your browser.  I mean, if you have Firefox.  It does different things on other browsers.  I think Internet Explorer flat out disabled it.  But it's amusing either way.  The wikipedia page on the subject was amusing as hell.  (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_book_of_mozilla)  And it makes you hate Internet Explorer and AOL just a little more than you already did. 

Now I'm going to sleep.  Maybe.  Although really three isn't late lately.  I'll likely stay up this late tomorrow too, as Stormin(g) the Castle (Rich's radio show) is on from 1:30 am to 3:30 am.  If you'd like to listen (and you should, he's good)  you can just click here

Ugh.  Okay.  Sniffles aside it is definitely time to go to bed.  It's just hard to be tired when you've done nothing but sneeze all day.  Sleep sweet, all.

<3 Rach

PS--Cousin Luudle, I love you and miss you and am thinking of you from across the universe!  You are such a magnificent person <3