Fasting is a type of prayer. Maybe That's why I'm not eating. I just know if I have a slice of pizza or eat my cereal and something happens, I'm going to feel cursed forever. I don't dare change my sudden liquid diet.
Last I heard was that there was no change, but that wasn't the last text I got from my mother. "Let me know when you're leaving work." She said. What does it mean? I can't bring myself to ask. I can't drive home in tears, and I certainly can't go get my sister. But both are things I must do, so I sit and wonder if anything has, in fact, changed.
I'm on my second cup of tea; burned my taste buds, and poured in too much powdered creamer.
I haven't told anyone, but they've noticed. One of the kids even told the science teacher not to pick on me today. A friend offered to cover my last two blocks, but then what would I do? Go home and sit? I can't.
I should have thought about getting my sister sooner; then maybe I would have left. But it's too late now, I'll just wait out the rest of the day--all of the 23 minutes before vacation.
What are we supposed to do? How can we celebrate Thanksgiving? How will all this end? Here come the tears again, better stop. Must hold it together, regardless of the impending doom I feel.
I'm not sure if blogging has helped or not. In a way it's like talking out my problems, and in a way it's like showcasing them. Staring right at them doesn't make them go away.