LustingforNightmares

tumbleweed
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2019-12-27 02:35:30 (UTC)

updates: california

"Pobre La Maria" by Luis Enrique Mejia Godoy [a song that my parents used to play in the car, only instead of the lyric "y su FANtasia," they'd say, "y su PANza fria!" lmao]

PST: December 26, 2019 10:38 PM
EST: December 27, 2019 1:38 PM

I will be a good woman, which is to say, I will refrain—
Oh, hold on. My grandpa just interrupted to tell my mom and I a story about how he got stuck down in the bathroom without toilet paper after taking "a number two" and so he had to waddle "the best waddle of his life" to find a replacement substance. Very good to hear it.

Now I don't want to write what I was going to write. I am going to write down the following in short, in case I never want to write about it again.
1. I decided I would not masturbate while visiting Grandma in hospice
2. Grandma died on Sunday before we arrived
3. We've been here, just sort of standing around, going through pictures and drinking wine. In any case I think she would've been happy with her send-off.
4. I decided to be content with not writing and not thinking about school until I get back to campus in early January. I need a break. In good news, I am feeling better overall; no attacks of melancholy, no overwhelming inadequacy spirals.
5. My tia Luz (dad's cousin, El Salvadorian) made a speech at Christmas dinner dedicated to Grandma, but she started crying quietly partway through
6. My grandpa (my favorite person in my dad's family, haha) is normally very lighthearted. But my dad did this thing where he whimpered, and so far he had not shown emotion; he rested his head on my grandpa's shoulder and pulled Lindsy and I into a hug. Grandpa said, "I had been able... to keep.. in control..." (he speaks like that, in beats, sometimes) "until the moment... she died..." and he was teary. There is a picture of all of us somewhere, hugging, and I have never seen those two men look so red-eyed. So sad.
7. I went into the bathroom to cry and felt guilty for it
8. This brings us to today. I am very emotional this week, almost everything makes me cry. We watched The Rise of Skywalker and I was weeping during the commercials, lmao. By the way, that movie is... mediocre at best. I feel like, whoever was in charge of visuals did a great job, but the writers... less so, lmao.
9. I really want to masturbate. But I shan't. It still feels weird. Also I have to share a bed with Caroline so there's no place to do it, unless I work it real quick in the bathroom. Maybe?????????? No. ugh. No. I keep feeling like Grandma will pop up at an inopportune moment to witness my sin... my cousin Jess and Grandpa were talking about ghosts like that. Apparently before Grandma had died, she mentioned a ghost "Dr. Rimald" who had died in the front yard of a heart attack while mowing the lawn, a little before they owned the house; "he never left." Spooky.
Anyway, then there was also the mysterious "Mr. Nobody" ghost in the house, who takes things, everything always going missing.

My grandpa is a former nuclear scientist so I didn't really expect him to confirm that any of this was true. We asked about the ghosts at the christmas party and he said, "I never told you about them because you said you didn't believe," and I almost shat my pants. But then he sort of amended his own sentence, the semantics of ghostliness... ghosts can be anything. I think there are ghost-ghosts. Or, no I don't. But part of me does.

10. I saw her death mask in his office. A plaster mold of her last expression. The same expression preserved in a photo distributed into the family group chat. She looked dead even two days before she died, so at first I didn't realize this particular photo was after she'd passed. She looks like a mummy. Eyes closed, mouth open, skin dried up and sucked into the cavern of her black mouth.

I am going to go to sleep. I am afraid of having a wet dream. I wonder if I should take a shower and work it out then, but I tend to have a hard time with that. I don't— ugh.

Anyway, I will go now. I can't concentrate.


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