I think that I'm developing a serious case of insomnia and it sucks.

I haven't had a good night's sleep in over a week and it's for no reason at all. Last night I was exhausted and I got in bed at 11:30. I set the alarm for nine. All night long I woke up, dreams turning into sentences and ideas burning so brightly in my mind that I'd open my eyes to make sure I hadn't left a lamp on. This has been going on for days. I wake up every morning at dawn, my thoughts humming like florescent lights. I go out to the living room and open the patio doors for the cat before returning for a few more hours worth of tossing and turning.

My days have been surreal. On Monday morning I picked up my friend Holly at the airport. She had just returned from Atlanta and a wedding that I was supposed to attend. For both of us the early morning hour felt bright and our lives too real. We came back to my condo and I called around to various funeral parlors, looking for a place to hold a memorial service. Then off we went, driving the big stupid Oldsmobile, to meet with a funeral director.

There we sat, two 25 year old city girls, with Larry Clark, memorial planner at large. There's really a lot to plan for...flower arrangements, photos, music, guest books, programs... Larry was even kind enough to offer a loan on an urn for my father's ashes, should I wish to display them during the service. Holly and I followed Larry down the hall in order to view the selection. Upon entering the room, Holly and I turned with Larry to the left as he flipped on the lights. In front of us was an enormous casket displaying a golfing theme. As I turned around, I realized that we were in a room full of caskets, all different sizes and colors and materials. We made small talk about the prices of caskets these days while in my mind I was screaming, What the FUCK am I doing here? Needless to say, the rest of day required quite different activities such as lingerie shopping and happy hour by the beach in Santa Monica.

Yesterday was no better. I finally dragged myself out of bed, realizing that sleep was just never going to come. I made a long list of things to do. I've done this every day but it hasn't seemed to help much. Now they're all scattered all over the table, around my computer, and I don't even know which was meant for today.

I had an appointment at 2:30 with the estate lawyers and I stood in front of the closet for a while, trying to think of what a 25 year old girl whose 82 year old father has just died and left her as the executor of the estate would wear. I went with a stretchy, chiffony shirt, my favorite pair of 7 jeans, vintage-looking heels and my Gucci sunglasses. Armed with my huge, leather bound Living Trust Handbook I entered the office and waited in the lobby for the lawyer. The lobby was decorated in a lot of mahogany with couches and curtains displaying a maroon and magnolia print. I stared at the handbook in my lap and crossed my legs, trying to look somewhat capable. The handbook reminds me of that book that they had in BeetleJuice, The Handbook for the Living Dead. That's kind of what I felt like...the living dead.

The meeting went well. The lawyer peered at me from across his mahogany desk and then glanced back at his paperwork. It says here that you were 23 when your father made you executor. Pause. You are 25 now. Pause. Your siblings are all in their mid to late 50's. Pause. Interesting that the youngest was chosen. Mmm...hmmm, I agreed.

My whole day feels dilated, my whole life like an overexposed photograph.
12:49:04 PM     comment []