>>From: Belacqua
>>To: Perdita
>>Subject: Re: w.h. auden
>>Date: Wed, 13 Dec 2000

What has terrified me for so long in my life is that I realize how far other people's minds can go, and I know that mine doesn't stop there. I was scared to go too far past where I thought I should, and now I feel like the door is blown wide open and what I see on the other side is what I see in you. And I have NEVER thought of you as "just a singer." I don't remember if I read it somewhere or just made it up, but all poets are frustrated musicians. The ability of music and singing to almost physically move you is incredible, and it really takes a lot to be able to do that. I've listened to your music (some of it, anyway) and "just a singer" wasn't close to what I felt. There is more value in art than in any other human occupation, and singing is an art that I know is not easy. Art is never easy.

Some of the people who make the highest grades in my classes are the stupidest motherfuckers alive. The valedictorian and salutatorian at my high school were two people that I considered the least intelligent at the school. Perhaps academic intelligence can be put on a scale, but not true human intelligence. My best friends in high school were guys who were barely passing, but it wasn't because they couldn't; it was because they didn't care enough to bother. I'm fooling people with my perfect grades. It's such a slap in the face to these institutions that I can ace the classes without putting any work at all into them. That shouldn't be possible. People who get life are intelligent -- people who see what is really going on. When I first read your journal entries, I saw that and that's why I had to e-mail you. I think you're brilliant, and anyone who says otherwise is wearing their ignorance on their sleeve, as far as I'm concerned.

When my friend came up and lectured me the other day, he told me that when a true tragedy hit me, I'd realize what everything was all about. Of course, he was implying that right now I'm being an immature, melodramatic, spoiled little brat. I laughed at him. I couldn't help myself. Then he said, "What are you going to do when your brother dies? Or your dad dies?" I thought about it for a second, and I said to him, "Probably nothing because they don't mean all that much to me." Then he said, “What would you do if Perdita got in a horrible accident tomorrow and died?" and the answer immediately popped into my head, but god knows I couldn't say, "Die...fast." So all I could say was that I didn't know

On an unconnected note, I'm on yet ANOTHER medicine now. That brings the total I'm on currently to FOUR. This is getting ridiculous. The new drug is some shit called Remeron which they don't usually give to younger patients. I forgot why. It's an antidepressant that I take at night, and it's supposed to help me sleep, and holy fucking shit did it knock me out. I took the pill at about quarter to nine, and I was knocked out on the couch at 9:05. I woke back up at 1 in the morning to get into bed, and then I slept until after 10 this morning when I had to make myself get up. I haven't slept for 13 hours in years. I hope it loses a little bit of its potency as I take it more because I can't do that shit every night.

If I have to steal newborn babies so I can sell them on the black market to get the money, that's what I'll do, because I'm going to visit you in January. This is another one of those things people get scared hearing, but I need you, Perdita. And I miss you like crazy. I even take my bear down to my friend’s apartment when he calls sometimes because it helps me feel that you're nearby.

I hope you have a good day today. I have a therapy appointment at 3:30 and I still don't know how clean I'm going to come with the doctor. I don't know how far I can trust him and how much that medical instinct to ruthlessly preserve life is ingrained in him. I hope to hear from you soon.

I love you.
Belacqua

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>From: Perdita
>To: Belacqua
>Subject: Re: w.h. auden
>Date: Wed, 13 Dec 2000

Belacqua,

In a way, I'm really glad to hear that your new medication allowed you to sleep for such a long time. Sleep is one of those things that I have an infinite amount of appreciation for, and it's definitely good to be able to give your body the kind of refreshment that it requires. This is, of course, assuming that you aren't forced to sleep thirteen hours a night every single night. Before my meds, sleep was one of the most wonderful things in the world, and I don't think I'll ever get over how much I miss that now with the restless side-effects of the Paxil.

I have an emergency appointment with my doctor tomorrow morning, which kind of cracks me up because I made it yesterday. They consider two days notice an emergency appointment? Well, whatever. At least he agreed to see me. I'm not sure what's gonna happen when I go. He kind of pissed me off when I was on the phone with him, but it may have been because I was annoyed that he was interrupting my conversation with you. The fact of the matter is that I don't KNOW why I need an emergency appointment. All I know is that I feel like shit. I'm not entirely certain why, and I know if I go in there and tell him that, he won't do anything for me. How the hell am I supposed to delineate for him the things that are wrong when I can't tell the difference between those and the things that are normal? I've been fucked up for pretty much as long as I can remember, so how am I supposed to know what to tell him and what not to tell him?

I can't believe your friend actually told you you'd think differently if you were confronted with a sudden tragedy. That's ridiculous. If anything, a sudden tragedy would probably be enough to confirm your prior suspicions. That's what happened to me every time someone died or something went drastically wrong in my life; I just sank deeper. But I guess you can't blame him for trying.

Right now, I feel quite relieved because I just went over to Human Resources to ask them about those forms for the new medical insurance we're getting, and today was the actual deadline for them. So I got them all filled out, and now I just have to go through that shitty-ass book they gave me with all the information in it and figure out how much they're going to screw me over with their little schemes. I don't think I have to switch doctors or anything, which is very good, but it's still a pain in the ass to have to do all these forms and shit when it's not my fault that our last insurance plan went bankrupt.

Today has probably been the best day I've had thus far this week, but that's sure as hell not saying a lot. My brother is taking my roommate and me out for dinner after work today, so at least I get a free dinner to look forward to. It's three months after the fact, but he's taking us out as a thank you for letting him stay with us during the month of September when he was homeless. I'm not complaining, since I was homeless once and lived with him for a month and a half and it's nice to be able to return the favor, but how the hell does a physicist end up homeless? It's another of those things that cracks me up. At least when I was homeless, it was because I'd just graduated from school.

Well, Belacqua, I hope you don't have to steal newborn babies to sell on the black market, but if that's what has to be done for me to see you in January, then I guess that's what must be done, and I'll be more than willing to contribute to the effort. And I'm glad Bear is keeping you company till then.

I love you.
Perdita