phoenix {rising}
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Falling
<<2003-11-06 - 11:01 a.m.>>

This morning I woke up on my floor where I'd fallen asleep attempting to work on my computer the only place my ethernet cable will reach. I woke up from a dream about falling. In the dream, I was sitting with Claire and someone who loved Claire better than they loved me (someone who is not, in fact, the person who told us that last night). We were at a mall of some kind (later it would turn out that the mall was under some serious construction). There was a hill, into which the mall was built—we were sitting in some kind of patio, on the lowest level. I was smoking a cigarette that resembled nothing more than a long, unfurled metal coathanger and thinking about getting my nose pierced that day.

One level up, in our viewframe, a car pulled into a parking space. The doors opened. The driver stepped out. And she fell.

The car had only its front wheels on the solid side of a cliff. The driver's door was above thin air. The driver got out into thin air, fell maybe fifty feet. Maybe more. She fell and wasn't moving.

I saw because Claire and Whoever were involved in some discussion that did not include me and I was staring into space. I got up and ran over to where the driver had fallen. Her passenger had fallen too. Claire and Whoever caught up to me, but seemed to fade. My sister appeared, picking herself off the small pile of fallen bodies. Her face was bloody. She was missing a front tooth. A blonde girl staggered to her feet. The passenger. The driver wasn't moving.

I screamed for a cell phone, and two girls came over with one. They asked if they could call 911 too. But I took the phone and then I was calling and crying and saying that there'd been an accident at 28th and Woodstock, which was, in fact, where we were, despite the fact that campus was nowhere in sight. I pushed my way through a line of people that had inexplicably assembled, who seemed to be construction workers waiting for a school bus. A man asked me, "Where does the car come?" I was crying and trying to make sure that help was on the way.

I woke up, late and unprepared for the day, before the ambulance was dispatched. Kara had already left for campus, and I'd be far too late if I walked. Downstairs, realizing that I wasn't going to be able to get to class, I gritted to Fury, "It hasn't been a good few days." She said, "I'm sorry," and nothing more.

I have ripped my face to shreds and am not currently in class and did not do any work last night and have scheduled a counseling appointment over the class I'm supposed to go to next and my bag smells like cigarettes and I could not stop eating pancakes this morning which is basically a continuation of yesterday evening when I got home still on the verge of tears and was chastised for not washing a pot and ate two chocolate bars and quite a few pancakes slathered with butter and today I am supposed to pick myself up and walk to campus and be fine and it just feels like too much. Feels like falling.

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