Lucy, August 2021
I've destroyed so much paper this month, I feel like I ought to plant a tree or two to make up for it. Nothing is coming out the way I want it to. Not my drawings, not my thoughts, not my letters. I finally wrote a couple letters to someone other than you or Sam, for once. I don't know what possessed me to do it but I guess it felt slightly cathartic. Probably because I can't talk to Sam anymore and you...well, you don't write back.
I've destroyed so much paper this month, I feel like I ought to plant a tree or two to make up for it. Nothing is coming out the way I want it to. Not my drawings, not my thoughts, not my letters. I finally wrote a couple letters to someone other than you or Sam, for once. I don't know what possessed me to do it but I guess it felt slightly cathartic. Probably because I can't talk to Sam anymore and you...well, you don't write back.
Someone asked me the other night if I was sad. I said yes, because isn't everybody sad at this point? But it's more than that this time. It's like I woke up one morning and did a complete 180 on some things I've been fighting against. Maybe I thought trading my Peter Pan tights in for a company and a house would make me feel like I have more control over my life. Maybe I just wanted to make Gram happy.
I don't know if any of this shit I'm doing will make me feel better. I don't even know if it will make Gram happy, because this isn't the part she cares about. I'm tired, Lucy. Trying to do the "right" thing can be exhausting. I've run my realtor ragged trying to find a house. I spend more time right now talking to my accountant and my lawyer instead of working, and I can't say I enjoy it. I keep telling myself it will be worth it at the end.