Dear Diary,

I went out for my normal knitting visit with friends, and managed to domino the rest of the day into oblivion.

I let my daughter get away with not working on her 4-H project.
I missed the bank.
I didn't stop for milk, which my husband really needed a shot of for the day.
I finished the errands so late I couldn't meet a friend for taking the kids to the Dinosaur Museum.

Then a friend posts in my feed the serenity prayer.

My dad had it on stained glass. It sat on the table, in bold, Catholic-window colors. It was a tri-fold frame, each pane with one part of the prayer. I didn't know it was a prayer each time I read it, which I did frequently. I know each line of lead, each pairing of colors. I can follow the ornamentation of the font. I think these words were the first things I memorized, etched into my mind as much as any education I've ever had.

Sometimes it's all in just remembering.

Dear Diary,

I have taken two plunges today, and bought a new mattress.

The mattress first: We're ditching our Sleep Number for a basic Sealy Posturepedic and topping it with a NexGel OrthoGel topper. It'll be awesome--in two weeks. *sigh*.

I have announced to those who might tend to expect things that I am going to try to go to the family reunion in Kentucky this year. Road trip! and camping. I'm already excited.

And lastly, I have fallen shy of my wordcount goal for the day by a mere fifty words. I don't want to start the next chapter yet. It is called "The Gospel According to Cassandra" where we learn what happens if we heed the advice of strangers. Maybe. I'm only to the third chapter. It might be something else in a while.

An Excerpt, for you, after the break:

Dear Diary,

So of all the petty things in the world, Facebook has offered me a forum for a deep sense of rejection.

Of the five or so years I've been on it, all but one has been waiting for a friend to approve my request of friendship. Which is odd, to me, because we were very, very close in school. At least, I thought we were.

That's where the rejection comes in.

I have a lot of "friends" on social networking sites--I enjoy vicarious contact as much as or more than real time, due to things like "expectations" and "dedication" and other friendly-like things I am not willing to offer to as many people as populate the list. There are people there I have actively forgotten about, or people I choose to watch from afar like a little stalker girl. I'm a good little stalker girl, though, nothing that isn't offered on the FB news feed. You can control that with your privacy settings. I just look at what pops up with interest and move on. There are friends I never expected to spend as much time exchanging ideas with as I do. And then there are people with whom I decided to enjoy "expectations" and "dedication"--these people I communicate with through social sites to arrange real-life meetings, or to supplement our face-to-face relationship. Link sharing and the like.

And then there are the people who used to rest in that role--those worthy of my attentions, real-life pals. Of the nine of us that there were, four are my Facebook friends, three of whom lead quiet social lives and I'm not really connected to. Three have disappeared completely from all aspects of digital life--one of whom I know is on the other side of the line, all I have to do is call it and she'll be there. And one has ignored my request years ago, and my fresh request of a few months ago.

She may not be online, but I do know that she's gotten married in the mean time, and had a child. I know this because I'm friends with her cousin who posts photos and other stuff that is available to friends to view. And her profile picture has changed at least twice since I've emailed her.

Was I not one of nine like I thought I had been? Wasn't I? Didn't I belong to the group, an active participant in every-member support, encouragement, and academic bravery? (Of the nine, three maintained the highest possible GPA--she and I making up two of those.)

All I can think of is my abrupt departure--swiftly and entirely erased from the environment. The last day of Junior year is the last day I saw any of the nine, and the first day of  the vast silence before social networking.


What happened that day that was my last, or that year they could continue to bond or unbind without me? What happened to me, or to her, that we can't even exchange aloof pleasantries and allow each other to see polished and carefully chosen details of ourselves? Or at least email addresses so we can catch up?

Hence, I find I have been rejected.

Dear Diary,

I am back to words.

1. I have caught up on all but four of the webcomics I read.
2. I have looked up writing competitions.
3. I have sketched out plotlines.
4. I went to the book give-away
• gathered transparencies and math books
• stocked up on "reading lists for schoolchildren" titles
• expanded my Newberry and Caldecott Award-winning or honor book library
5. I am reading
• I have finished Still Life with Woodpecker  and 29 Gifts
• I am reading The Illiad with my high school student.
• I am reading Sons of Fortune and Thin Skin
6. I am teaching English, and learning some details of the structure of Korean language.
• I can write "Seoul" and "South Korea" and "Wan" in Korean, though I can't pronounce them.
7. I just signed up for Camp Nanowrimo. There are two--one in July and one in August. Both of those months have 31 days instead of 30, which means 1,613 words a day--fifty-four fewer than in November.

So. Maybe I'll write more in my fancy beautiful diary and insert the fun parts here. I wouldn't get my hopes up, though.

Dear Diary,

A great weight has been lifted. If only the rest would ease up.

It has been a difficult year. The things that could happen have been settling around my shoulders in the form of a constant crick in the neck. I love my friends, and I would do anything for them, including bear their stresses. The empathy gene keeps me from having many friends because I have to truly and entirely love you to keep you close, and I can't just do that for anybody. This came from my sister being my best friend since the day she was born (possibly sooner, but I'm being general as I can't actually remember). It became normal to love one's friend unconditionally.

Here is no timeline, just five families struggling.

Two families have had miscarriages in the past year. I have been there, cried for me and cried for them and cried for three babies--all potentially first children--that I will never know.

Two families have had unjust charges brought against them by the same policing entity. From kidnapping to domestic abuse, only the stress and uncertainty of a trial could weed out what happened from what didn't happen for each of these. Both fathers were given probation- beautiful for the families- for crimes they did indeed commit, which are minor in both cases. The justice system, however flawed, works well enough I can keep my faith in it.

Two families will move away from me in the next year, maybe three. After watching three friends leave already, and making only three since, I am slow to keep up.

One family has broken down completely, needing care and supervision and trust and patience.

Five families, none of them mine. If I had compartments, I'd use them. Instead, my body revolts with headaches and nausea that last for days, and other remnants of shock and shot nerves. When I count my blessings, I am only reminded of those things I have that others don't. Do I have survivor's guilt?

It seems most suspense has truly ended, and next is a series of starts, whether I start helping friends pack, or start knitting another baby hat, or start homeschooling another student, I hope I find in these starts a remarkable lack of this guilt, if that is what it is.

Dear Diary,

 We managed to get the rest of the house finished up and emptied today. I expected to help load the furniture but the girls seemed not to need my help. I went back and canceled the newspaper while the boys (my uncle, my cousin, and my other cousin's husband) disassembled the carport. When I discovered my uncle's back and my cousin's COPD brought them inside leaving my cousin-in-law out in the cold by himself, I passed the last cancellation job over to my sister (who had brought me coffee and donuts) and went out to help.

Dear Diary,

I couldn't get out of bed, but I wasn't up long when my sisters came knocking eager to do up my hair again. I turned them down, but ended up over there anyway. They crinkled up my hair with a different hair product from yesterday and raved at how pretty it was. I'm not sure, but I think that the constant raving about the amazing nature of a feature makes most girls pretty happy. I was a bit irritated and couldn't wait to get done with it. I thanked them because it was kind of nice to be fussed over, but I'm glad I don't have that done often. I escaped to the lobby with Dad's laptop to check my email.