My hair is long enough to sit on again.

Its black again.

Thats how I feel right now. Black. Damn, its hard to type after a few glasses of cheap wine. Black. I'm sitting in front of the computer. Everyone else is asleep. Just had mind-bending, soul-searching, naked, gut-renching, beautiful, soul naked sex. Its been so long since we have done that. So often, under the pressure of life, under all of my hurt and issues, and responsibilities, and everything, we fade. Something so wonderful fades. But then, like tonight, we find it again. And no matter how it fades sometimes, we are reassured that that is all that has happened. Fading. The true colors are there, under everything. Keeping everything together, like glue, whether we know it or not. Knowing it on nights like this. Royce wants nights like this every night. He is such a utopianist. Is that a word? Sometimes I think he deserves so much better. He deserves Angelina Jolie. Carmen Electra. Beyonce. The beautiful, sensual, sex goddess of his dreams. A man with his heart and soul deserves at least that. And he has me. Can you hear me laughing?

Kirk, I know you read this. This is my little part of the world where I am open, and I am just me. Not that you would recognize that. Just so you know, I know you come here. You are welcome here, like everyone else. This is a blank slate. A naked forum. If you want updates on the kids you can call me. You don't come here for updates. If you wanted to know me, really know me, you should have done it in the ten years that I was there. The ten years that I gave you three children. The ten years I would have done anything for you. Your loss. For whatever purpose this serves to you - knock yourself out. But I know you are here.

Enough said.

I am finding myself sucked into darkness. Not on an everyday level. People around me would never see it. But on an internal level. I guess it is everyday - if I strip down to that naked part. So often I am just working, momming, wifing. Life-ing. And underneath is darkness. Different now. Darker. I always felt darkness. But I feel it differently now. I knew after my dad died it would be like this. Going to the dark side. I think of the Emperor beckoning Luke to do this very thing. And I, unlike him, weaker than him, succomb to the call. It feels like home to me.

Things that scared me before - don't now.

My dad's death feels like a baptism to me. After he took his last breath, I feel as if I finally dissolve to darkness. I feel like I have finally voluntarily been emersed under the black water. Baptized. It is so ludicris. My dad, the saint, the best man I ever knew, the perfect character of Jesus, the closest I ever knew to be like Christ. And his death is what puts me over the edge. Not my issues, not what happened to Tyler. But my dad.

I don't even feel loss for what I used to believe anymore. I just feel comfort in everything that I was told was evil.

Naked. I'm sorry I am so naked right now. I just need to write.

I have these morbid, dark, grotesque underlying thoughts. They stay with me. I keep thinking about my dad. Right now. Seriously - what he is like right now. A week ago Friday was the last time I saw him. Before the funeral. In that creepy, little, quiet, morbid room where the family can view the body in private before the funeral. He was lying there. In the casket. I didn't really expect it to look like him. But my mom was so traumatized by how he looked. She was beside herself at how it didn't really look like him. I remember standing there, at the coffin. Looking at his body. His weird mouth. Touching his cold cold hands. Kissing his hard, cold forehead. I left lipsick marks on his forehead. Peggy told me so. I cry now. I haven't really cried since then. In some ways it wasn't really hard, because it wasn't him. I've never really had someone die, that I saw afterward. That I touched afterward. Its funny how their soul is just gone. Its not them lying there. And yet it is their body.

I think about Anne. Six feet under. With her baby. What does she look like now?

I keep thinking about his body. Is it decomposing? How long will it take for that to happen? What does he look like, and feel like in the casket right now? In a week? In a month? In a year? The literal way that his physical self looks - at all those times? I keep seeing a corpse. A thin, guant, lifeless, bloodless, embalmed, cold version of my wonderful dad. I keep seeing rotting flesh. The church jacket and tie and pants that my mom buried him in getting thinner and smaller in his physical decomposition. I keep seeing things very literal and physical. Maybe because I am a nurse, and see these things alot. I just keep seeing him, that weird look on his dead face, his body, - in the coffin. I keep seeing him six feet under, under all the earth. Cold. Alone. Hard.

My mind just seems to keep coming back to these images.

What is wrong with me? Do other people do this?

Eight ounces of cheap cabernet sucked down in seconds - I'm sure won't feel good in about 5 hours, but helps me write. Helps me exist right now. Helps me sleep.

And may I quote Anne Rice:
"And he was a living corpse. Nothing animated his sunken body but a fierce will: hence, his eyes for their gleam were all the more sunken in his skull, and his lips in their trembling made his old yellowed mouth more horrible. I sat at the foot of the bed, and, suffering to see him so, I gave him my hand. I cannot tell you how much his appearance had shaken me. For when I bring death, it is swift and consciousless, leaving the victim as if in enchanted sleep. But this was the slow decay, the body refusing to surrender to the vampire of time which had sucked upon it for years on end."

The Vampire of Time: Parkinsons.

I read of the little girl. The little girl by her dead mother. Who Louis takes, more from hunger than from want. And I see Lestat take the corpse --------- and dance. And see the little girl sucked of her life blood, and tossed alongside her mother.

These things used to scare me. Now its a kind of sinking comfort. I would never have had a book like that in my house - before. I would never have been comfortable with it in the place that I sleep. Now, it is kept safely in my purse. Kept where I can get to it at any spare moment.

Now that THAT god does not exist - I sink, ------ comfortably.

Reading is now fulfilling the drive that alcohol once ruled.

Willing Suspension Of Disbelief is now my escape. My high. My deep sleep and comfort that vodka intoxication used to provide.

Wine and brandy are still my friends. Now they are just comfortable. Not a drive.

I think of you all. Robin, Valerie, Loida, Deb, Heather, Nikki, Trailady, Shelli, Cathy. My Roycie.

Love you all.