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March 28, 2011

I was strongly considering skipping out on my friend's show tonight even though she lives in Brooklyn and is therefore rarely here.
The whole way there, and when inside, I felt sick to my stomach. I was anxious about not having anyone with me, and I felt awkward. And when my friend sang, I had to remind myself that it isn't about me, that I am there for her. And at some point, I felt connected, like we shared something. My stomach stopped hurting, and I felt glad to see her. I felt like I wanted to run up and hug her.

She drove me over to my car after the show. I felt emotional. I felt sentimental. I thought of how I've known her since high school, but how we don't really know each other now, we don't know what's going on in each other's lives.
On the way home, I played Debussy's Nuages loud, and then YYY's Heads Will Roll. Eighty Steps Away. The Good Listeners. I felt like music could move me again. I drove on a four-lane freeway and thought of another friend from New York. I thought of the people who care about me, who despite the weight of self-hatred that I carry around with me, think I am fine the way I am. I thought of how I am not alone in my life, how I am not as insulated as I feel. I thought of the people who care about me.