Pain and Comfort, Deep Within You...

Odd day of unemployment, and not completely unenjoyable.

I danced naked in my apartment while doing dishes to the Postal Service and Massive Attack.

I showered. I got clean.

I went to Wall Street and got my paycheck. It was okay.

I walked around Ground Zero. I have never spent much time there, though I walked by it almost everyday at work. I went there because I hate myself, well, generally most of the time, but especially when I'm feeling sorry for myself. Abby is right. We Taylor women know how to hang on, against all odds.

It's important to have a strong perspective of what true tragedy is. I walked around and let my own excess of empathy soak in what it means to truly lose something bigger than yourself. I walked around and knew I was looking at what a broken heart looks like.

Rubble. Rebuilding. Because what other choice is there?

I could kill myself.

Or I could move on.

Something rises out of the rubble, and it may not all be pretty, but it's a start.

The answer lies in there.

Please don't worry about me too much. You can. Blythe called me yesterday and wanted me to talk, and when I wouldn't, she said,

"I don't like this. A quiet Carrie scares me."

It should. I'm not well. But I've been worse and I've seen worse and I've lived worse and every time I never thought that I'd be able to pull through, that this tragedy would be the one that would break me, and yet it didn't. Everytime it didn't. I've seen more shit and I've witnessed more than I will ever talk about (something Conor doesn't like and doesn't understand), but I've come out of it still young and laughing. Laughing excessively. Laughing with abandon. Because what other choice is there?

That's got to mean something. Sometimes it's the only thing that means anything to me. I have a bottle next to me that could kill me if I wanted, and part of me does, but I don't, because in the end, there's just more I need to laugh at. There's more I need to see. And maybe it will all disappoint me in the end, but at least I gave it a try, and in the end, if there is a Creator, he has got to know my intentions were always good.

Things fall apart.

And then they build themselves back again.

If only we were given the gift of patience to see it all through.

Breathe. Love. Learn.

So sayeth the prophet in accordance to the prophecy.

I'm such a dork.

And that's why you love me.