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Tuesday, March 4th, 2003
11:20 pm - Happy Birthday...
God. It's been years since I've seen you. Happy birthday, Scotty. I hope you're having a good one, wherever you are.

That goddamned idiot is going to get us all killed if he keeps this up. This time next year, will we even have bomb shelters to cower in? I hope you stayed out of the military, old friend. Or perhaps you'd be safer there. Not politically safer, to be sure. Did you and Jeff ever manage to hook up?

I've forgiven you, I think. You couldn't help being an ass when you and I met; I couldn't help being an egocentric little bitch either. I hadn't left Dave any instructions about not having a friendly shag; I hadn't thought they would have been necessary. Live and learn. It's not like you could have stolen him from me anyway, even if you'd wanted to.

I hope you're happy. I hope you're safe. I suppose it is true, what Kat said, about not unloving anyone unless they made you unlove them. I was very unhappy with you for several years, but I fell in love with you too long ago and too hard to unlove you over any of those things. I'd never marry you, and I'm not Christian enough for you to consider marrying me for very long, but I wish you the best.

I don't know if I'm ever going to see you again. I'm terrified that I won't. I'm terrified that one of us will die without me having told you how much I regret saying those things to you, or, perhaps worse, that we'll both survive to a ripe old age, and your last memory of me will still be of me screaming obscenities at you for having dared to defy your homophobic conditioning with my fiancé...

I miss you. Of all the people I haven't kept in contact with, I think I miss you the most. The old CTY gang has an email list set up, and it generates a monthly reminder that most of us are still alive, and we can find each other... Jeannette fell out of touch too, but she and Justine are so busy with the baby, that's not surprising. I get a note from Mom every now and then with some news from them. I never knew so many of the high school gang to even begin to miss them. Amazing what you can miss out on.

Beth would say hi if I were writing you a birthday card. If I had your address. If I could pick you out from the hundreds of thousands of Jones.

May your God bless you, Scott Eugene Jones... wherever you are.

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Sunday, February 23rd, 2003
1:40 am - Holidays, vacation, school and stuff
We decided to spend this year together as a family. Usually Dave goes home from wherever he is to be with his family over the winter break, for the celebration of the lights, and then New Year's, and all the partying with the old friends, and Regan's mom likes to see her.

This year, however, we got a tree. Last year, we were studying and scattered and all over the place, but now that I've only got the ASU classes and the job, and not DeVry, I'm taking things much more slowly, and I had time to do Christmas properly. Regan's abandoned the holiday, and it was never Dave's to start with, but this is where I shine. Mama always had a tree, and baked, and then Dad would throw these parties... more of a celebration of the turning of the year, the longest night, rekindling of the light, than the birth of Christ... but as I'm pagan anyway, that's the aspect that appeals to me most.

It's rather silly in Arizona, to look at the darkest, longest night. The sun doesn't set until six. That's hardly a night. I can walk out on the balcony in a T-shirt and shorts. Well, sweats, if I want to stand out there, but I'm hardly in danger of frostbite.

A few of my friends from school came over. I've made a few. Dave had a crowd of his posse come and hang out. Programmers are nice, if a little rowdy once they get started gaming. Regan and I got together and got Dave that PS2 he'd been craving. Now he'll have no excuse about not buying us chick-flicks on DVD...


Regan and I have both been noticing that we've been looking at other women with babies and little kids when we're at the store or on the bus, looking at each other, and sighing. Someday, love, someday. We're not sure if her body's made for childbearing. Her periods aren't normal. Our gynecologist has been making those "Well, you'll never know for sure until you try, but there's always adoption" sounds. I have no evident problems.

Someday.

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Saturday, December 7th, 2002
1:17 pm
Better today.

I still miss him.

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Friday, December 6th, 2002
3:31 am - *sigh*
Finals coming up. So what am I doing awake, anyway?

This year it waited. It usually springs on me at about the end of August/beginning of September, when the nights are getting chilly and you have to wear a jacket in the afternoon if you're not running around and keeping your body heat where it should be. The leaves were just turning, just barely starting, sprinkled gold in the birches, that morning.

Every year after that first one, I was fine. The next fall, I was too caught up in the engagement to think of anyone but the three of us. But the year after that, 1998, when I was up far too late by myself one evening at the beginning of fall, right when summer is starting to die, I felt him again.


You don't understand unless you've had it happen to you. I was awake that night in 1996, far too late. I don't remember what woke me up, but there he was, the feel of him, in the corner of my mind where he always was. We exchanged thoughts, and I hugged that silly teddy bear of his, the one he'd given me, the one with fangs stitched to it so it would be like Spock's pet sehlat. We would have loved to have talked all night, but he told me he had to go, and we disentangled our minds, and I went back to sleep.

His mother called at five the next morning, with the news. They found a note, and his clothes by the river. It would have been too much closure if they'd ever found his body. I know they will someday, like they did Joe Vogler's. Only this was suicide, not murder.


Zachary, I miss you. God. I wish you knew. I wish you hadn't. I'm not sure if I'll ever get over being mad.


The whole first year, I was numb. I can't tell you how close I got to dying myself, except I'd promised him not to, earlier. I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't let myself, it hurt so bad. It started tearing at Regan and Dave, too: they'd finally found me, and then I went away from them. I was there, physically, but I wasn't there. I just stopped responding. I don't even remember much of that year, except I drew a lot, mostly plants and trees and flowers, and I got straight A's. I don't think I got anything below a 95%, even on homework.

They finally dragged me out of it. I almost lost Regan too. That snapped me back. And then we got engaged, and there was always something happening, so that year I completely put him out of my mind.

But the next fall, when it hit that time of year, and I was up that late at night, it hit me. And I was so angry with him. There was no one to stop me from screaming at him. There was no one to stop me from breaking down in the hysterical tears that I hadn't even cried at his memorial. Thank gods I had the common sense to hit the mirror with the bonky flashlight rather than my fist.

There's this empty place in my mind where he should be. I should be feeling the warmth of his live body, even when we're miles apart. I should be able to peer in and see whether he's asleep or awake, content or distraught. But I can't. He took that from me.

I go through this every year. Sometimes it's better, sometimes it's worse. Sometimes I think I hear him talking to me, and that's the worst of all. I imagine, without even trying, what he would be doing right now, if he were alive. I can't stop it. It just happens. He would be happy, and happy for me... I have a wonderful life.

But he belongs in it. Belonged.

I loved him. He loved me.

I love him.

As long as I'm alive, at least that will never die.

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Monday, November 25th, 2002
12:59 am - Shit.
Jessica e-mailed me. Beth's going to Seattle to get some specialists to look at her. I've got candles lit.

She's my teacher, for crying out loud. Last time we talked, she said that if I ever cooled down from my little honeymoon, and put my mind to my Work, I'd likely surpass her, that I was doing a good job of edging up on her now. She said that she reached her maturity, her peak of power, early on, and she's been holding steady since then. Maybe learning a little, developing more finesse, as no one ever really stops unless they choose to, but she says she's been keeping tabs on me, watching what I do, and the way I do it, and she says I'm getting really good.

It humbles me to hear her say that. I haven't really been trying. I've just been doing the day-to-day things I've always done: maintain the links with my loves, try to clean out the bottom of my mind, the usual. Plus I've been focused on Dave and Ree, and school, and all... what could I do if I tried at it?

I hope she gets better. She's going to be absolutely all right. She has to be. They're coming up with better and better stuff every day, now.

current mood: worried

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Thursday, August 15th, 2002
10:28 am - Wedding Bells
Well.

We don't know when, exactly, the big day will be, but Regan and I are getting married. We'll probably time it for after Dave's out of college, so he won't have to use up precious vacation time for our honeymoon, then be expected to be back in school in a week or two (or, rarely, three) and with brain enough in his cranium to do actual programming.

We've decided that it will be Regan and me who will be going through the actual filing of paperwork for a formal marriage. Not sure if we're going to be able to do that or not with the ever-endearing W. in office by the time we want to, but hey, we can always summon the lawyers and write up civil contractual material equivalent to marriage. That's what we'll do for all three of us anyway, but we want to at least two of us be bound by formal marriage in the eyes of the state. Shake up a few of the old fogeys thinking about it.

We haven't decided anything about kids yet. Both Regan and I want them. There's no question about who the father's to be, but does she want to have hers first, do I want to have mine, do we both want to do this together, do we let nature take its course and then one of us go on the Pill, what? Ah well. Time to decide that after we've all gotten settled down.

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Saturday, August 10th, 2002
11:23 pm - Enough is enough
I'm dropping DeVry. It's just too much. I was fine with everything up until SQL, but that was just too much. I can't remember what to join where, and the and, not, or, in, whatever, is just not at all intuitive. It makes my head hurt. I just can't do this. azurelunatic says I should hang in there, that I can make it, but I just ... can't.

ASU's going to be starting up soon; I'll transfer over to there. Fifteen weeks a semester is just too short. That much work... Dave's thriving on it. He comes home glowing and buzzing; he's even cut down on the MUDding.

current mood: determined

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Thursday, June 27th, 2002
3:03 am - I really should be asleep now
Up too late again. Oh well, it's vacation, and I've earned a good white night and worry.

I heard from Beth today. She's been in and out of the hospital. Circulation problems, and her eyes have been acting up. She says that they've developed some sort of automatic insulin device and they're testing it in the UK; that might help. I'm worried about her. Jessica is too, from what I gathered.

Sometimes I worry that Ree and I have been bonding too closely, too exclusively, shutting Dave out sometimes. You can't girltalk with a guy very well, though... not unless he's gay. Dave's always been mostly straight, unless we count those few little incidents.

Speaking of which, I still can't give blood. Pfui!

current mood: worried

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Sunday, April 7th, 2002
4:21 pm - Weird...
azurelunatic is having me update this from my perspective, since I was the one who noticed most of it going on.

Apparently she's been trying to get into people's heads, lately, look out through their eyes, and she picked me, since I'm already in her head and she's already in mine. Happens, when someone writes you.

She was at work, and after getting interrupted on the contemplation, fight-club style, of "I am Darkside's overstressed prostate", she decided to poke around in my head instead.

It was bizarre to watch my apartment through new eyes. Evidently we live in the same apartment she did a little over a year ago, only we'd made it feel like home. Dave and Regan were a little, okay, more than a little creeped out by the idea of someone else living in my head. Regan's got an inkling of what's going on, though, and since I remember every moment of it, but just from a pushed-back perspective: like I was looking over the shoulder of the person in the driver's seat, Regan isn't freaking out too badly. She does want me to talk to Beth about it, though, because letting unknown entities into your head, let alone through your body, is not something you want to do.

She's a known entity, though. Perhaps I don't know her as well as I know myself, but then, that's about how well she knows me. I could discover all I wanted to about her should I choose to, and she with me. It's the same flame within that lights us both up, just different eyes to see it through.

I got to work her job for maybe half an hour. Yuck! I could never do that. People kept hanging up on me. I mean, just hanging up. Not saying anything, not cussing me out, just hanging up. They could tell I didn't belong there. I felt weird using her name.

I'm back now, in as "one piece" as I ever get. Regan tells me I was in and out for about half an hour, acting very dizzy. After it was all over, I just went to sleep for a couple hours and then woke up good as new and started banging away on my homework. Glad Dave has the LAN back up; it was starting to get annoying. Stupid cat-5. Well, okay, stupid vacuum cleaner.

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Saturday, March 30th, 2002
10:46 am
rosalynde

Nice color green, there. I suppose that would refer to the green and growing parts of myself, the stems and leaves and thorns. I've had quite a few thorns, lately. Some are sharp and needed defenses of myself, but some get stuck in the hands of those I love.

I need to work on that.

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Friday, March 29th, 2002
12:27 am - Rain, rain on my face
It's Passover, so Dave and Regan and I did the traditional dinner. We alternate who gets to light and bless the candles, Regan and I. Dave has flown home for Passover every year before this, but he figured it would be nice to spend the holiday with his new family, now that he's got one.

It's raining out there now, so it's actually nice to have the door open for Elijah. I miss the rain, here in the desert. Doubtless it's different to someone who's always lived here. Zach was a little in awe of the rain, I think. Growing up in Arizona will do that to you, when you move somewhere else. He always hated the cold.

A little tipsy. Sweet wine is sneaky like that. Regan only had the one glass, she being not quite old enough yet, officially. She and Dave are asleep. I know Dave's asleep; he perhaps goes a little overboard with the hyper, and then when he drinks he conks right out so fast. Regan probably is. It's late.

At least I don't have school tomorrow. I appreciate the break. I never knew there were so many fussy little details inside computers. I'm not sure if this is for me, or not. I'll give it the rest of this semester, and if it fails to click, I will switch career-paths. Not a waste of time; I'll still know about computers, and how to do things to them, but I shan't waste my time learning too much about a subject that'll only get me a career talking to chips and wires.

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Saturday, March 2nd, 2002
10:23 pm - Oh, and thanks...
iroshi, thanks for the code. Feel free to add me as a friend, if you feel up to the weird wanderings that are my life. I swear it'll make sense someday...I hope. Right now I'm just meandering about in the darkness like the rest of us.

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10:13 pm - Hello, world?
So this is my first entry. Big whoop. The Author swore she'd let me out more often if I had a real live diary to write in, instead of sharing hers.

I'm Rose, by the way. Up until a few years ago, I lived in Fairbanks, Alaska, and had pretty much your typical life. Now ... well, college is enough for me right now.

This entry's probably going to stay right at the top of my journal where it'll be there, like sharpshinyclaws to orient the new stumbler to what the hell is happening with my demented life anyway.

I'm engaged to Regan, the most beautiful girl on earth, and our lover is the inimitable Dave. Once Ree and I get the time from school, we're going to swing by Vermont and get married, hopefully before the bloody government decides we've been playing enough happy games.

Oh, and Z.? If you find this ... drop a note. Anonymous will do. Just leave the note and check it, and I swear to gods I'll write you back. Please. Please. I worry, you know I do, and I love you I love you I love you.

This journal is going to be filling up with back entries, backdated babble at least back to 1995, if not further. Don't panic; this is necessary. Ask azurelunatic about it; she knows more than I do about this.

In any case: Hello, world!

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Wednesday, September 12th, 2001
2:28 pm - THOSE PREJUDICED BASTARDS!
They're dying for blood. They're screaming for blood. They're begging for blood.

Because of one lousy screw with a virgin three years ago, despite the regular clean tests, Dave isn't allowed to give blood. Neither am I. Nor is Regan.

Those incompetent Christian morons.

Pardon my French.

In 1998, my beloved fiance David had sex with another man. Said man was a virgin. He and Dave used protection, of course.

But because Dave has had sex with a man past the year of whatever it was -- was he even born then? I think so, but one year olds don't fuck -- he cannot give blood. Since I am a woman who's had sex with a man who's had sex with another man since that year, I'm now an untouchable as far as the FDA and the Red Cross are concerned, and so's Regan.

Yes, it's for safety. But by today's standards, anybody who's not a virgin who's never had any injections or operations ever is suspect by those same safety rules.

Fuckit. I'm going to go to work anyway. They're not expecting me since I called in hopefully soon to be exsanguinated, but they can use the help.

Maybe I'll have cooled down by the time I get there. Ha.

current mood: infuriated

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Tuesday, September 11th, 2001
10:17 pm - Oh my gods.
I haven't cried yet.

I came to school this morning and I saw the news. I thought it was an accident at first. When the second plane hit I knew it wasn't. It couldn't be. There aren't coincidences like that.

People react so differently under stress. A lot of people were crying. Everybody had their cellphone out, trying to talk to the people they loved. Dave was trying to call his family. He couldn't get through. We still don't know if they're OK. Regan was crying. One girl was taking careful notes to keep track of it all and was trying to keep the really bizarre rumors down to just the facts: three planes, two to the Towers and one to the Pentagon; a fourth plane falling short of its mark.

All I kept thinking, was that if we were going to die, at least I would be with my two beloveds, and my writings are all backed up on offsite servers.

I'm skipping work tomorrow to donate blood.

current mood: blank

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Monday, March 30th, 1998
10:56 pm - AIIIIIIRRREEEEEGGGGHHH!
David R. Mytrowitz, you are an absolute cad and idiot! I hate you!

current mood: enraged

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5:33 am - Happy...
I leave for home in half an hour, but before I depart, I just want to say:

I love you, Regan.
I love you, Dave.

*hugs and kisses*

current mood: loved

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Sunday, March 29th, 1998
9:49 pm - California Dreaming
It's probably pretty scary to look at my face and, when you look in my eyes, realize that what passes for my mind, isn't there. I wouldn't know. I've never been there when people tell me that's happened.

Apparently it happened again today. Mother and I decided to visit the ocean. It was almost sunset by the time we got there. While she and my aunt walked on the beach, I walked out to the end of the pier. I watched the waves as they came splashing in: great lumps of water, pushed by the forces of the moon, coming towards the land. I watched that water come, each great hump of it, until eventually the speed of the top of the lump outpaced the bottom, getting ahead of itself, waving it over and smashing into the rocks. My usual style is more of a waterfall thing. But I stood there. I lost my ponytail elastic somewhere on the pier. I think a seagull may have made off with it. I'm going to have a time getting all the knots out; the sea breeze will do that to you.

I remembered.

Years ago, it was. I think I was seven. I must have been six or seven; I was in the second grade. We were visiting California then, too. It may have been this same beach, even.

I danced with the water that day. I danced in the waves in my red sundress, before my father made me pull it off so it wouldn't bleach too badly. Then I danced in the waves nearly skyclad, letting the water pull me where it would, leaping in joy, dipping, swirling, drinking little sips of the bitter water when it got in my mouth, eyes, hair. I was the ocean.

It was about then when someone swept me off my feet just as the ocean was about to do the same. My feet were about to get caught in the undertow. I could have died, one with the ocean, dragged under by that irresistible current in the water. I had no idea how close to that edge I had been dancing.

...There was another edge I had danced on, for so long. Mother and I went shopping this evening, before we even came back from the beach, just to Walmart, and we got me some clothes. Pink skirt. A rainbow top. Some black underpants and a black bra. I ducked into the mall bathroom and changed on the spot. When we got back to my aunt's house, I took a box of matches and the clothes I'd been wearing before out to the hibachi on the patio and fed them to the flames. Perhaps now the blond streaks in my hair will grow out. Bleaching out white and only white is not the way to keep your hair its natural colour.

If that undertow of depression had sucked me down, I would be dead. I danced that close to the edge, and, like my younger self, was not aware of it until Regan and Dave came and pulled me out.

White isn't a very good color on me in any case.

current mood: "Your life is so much sorrow;

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Tuesday, August 27th, 1996
6:49 pm - Haven't updated in a while
so I thought I might as well now.

I'm ok. Dave and Regan got home right on schedule. Dave called and said he missed me. I wish they were still here. I could use the feeling of having someone asleep next to you. I do miss that.

Mama and I went shopping today. School starts in just a few days, so everywhere was so crowded. This year Mama just gave up and gave Justine $80 and said that she could go shopping with Jeannette and her mom, as long as she made sure it was all in good taste. My jeans were getting too big, and black is really not my color this fall.

Every day, I try not to think about him. They say it gets better, after a while, and it's the not knowing that gets to you, that if you know, you'll be able to accept it and move on and not keep up the dreadful, precious hope that someday, you'll see his face shine out of the crowd, and he'll fight his way toward you, and as you barely dare believe it is, there he is...

I cannot lose hope.

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Tuesday, May 28th, 1996
11:48 am - April's Mother
Jenny Lynn Gardener, born 1962. She was 18 years old when she had her daughter, April, in 1980.

Jenny Lynn Gardener was a bright and happy child -- blond, blue eyes, a little flower of a priveleged family. Only child. Pampered.

At some point, of course, she was encouraged to believe in fairies, unicorns, magic --

...The problem was, of course, that no one else she knew also knew they were real. She started to see things, hear things, feel things, that were nowhere near as imaginary as she wanted to pretend they were...

She talks to angels. She wards away demons. Her parents and relatives were a major influence on her life with April until it was plain that she was no danger to April and the girl was growing up normally.

...April is a friend of a friend. I've never actually met her, but I've heard enough stories about her that I've been able to piece this much together.

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