Happy news! I get to see Robin this weekend after all, jiltos and I are driving up tomorrow afternoon!

*happy dance*

So, after a hearty dinner at P.J.’s (ahh, those grouper sandwiches) we trekked out to The Castle yet again. Strange vibe in the group tonight, though. Nobody seemed really interested in being there. I danced to two songs, if that. More like one and a half.

I did, however, notice an odd phenomenon in myself.

I didn’t dress up tonight. Hell, I didn’t even shave. Had on jeans, t-shirt and my converse. Trish started giving me shit about it, and my response was “hey, I don’t need to impress anyone tonight. I’m not on the prowl anymore.” Not that I don’t enjoy getting all fancied up for the club, but it wasn’t quite the pressing issue tonight. Anyway, I noticed that when I got on the dance floor in my converse I did a lot more bouncing.

A lot.

Like doing all that jumping around on one leg and flailing the other around shit.

I’m sure I looked like a complete goober when I did it, but I just couldn’t keep my feet on the ground. My chucks are considerably lighter than my boots, and it made a real difference when I was dancing. I’ll have to remember that. If I’m in a mood to really dance hard, I’ll have to wear the chucks.

And I was in a mood to dance hard tonight.

Actually, I was in a mood to do one of two other things…but as neither of them were an option I settled for dancing.

Since the person who I am writing this about likes to make vague and ambiguous entries in his journal, I shall return the favor and do the same for him on mine.

I’m done with you.

I thought you went too far before, but where you went now is beyond unacceptable. Your level of gall is stunning. I was willing to put up with just about anything you could dish out, but the fact that you felt the need to take something that happened between Robin and I and use it to make one of your pathetic points is beyond unacceptable.

I’ve been told by more than one person that my desire to help you was not something that I could or should do, but the silly person that I am actually thought you wanted to be helped, but you don’t. You want to wallow in your own shit. You’ve been given countless opportunities to end this amiably, and you’ve blown it.

Congratulations, you just lost your biggest advocate.

Do NOT contact me. You’ll only make it worse.

It’s funny that I’m actually calling the person I’m writing this about a friend. I suppose she is now. It’s only been recently that I could say that, though. Only the last year or so since I felt comfortable calling her Linda.

Up until then she was Mrs. Clark.

She started at Tyrone Middle School the same year that I did. I was in sixth grade, and she was the chorus teacher. When I was in seventh grade, not only did she start a Show Choir but she also began a tradition of putting on musicals at Tyrone. That first musical, My Fair Lady was a truly horrid experience. I still have it on VHS. If I get brave sometime I may just watch it and see how bad it was. I don’t remember it being quite so awful, but from talking to her I get the impression that it was. I had the lead in that show. Played Henry Higgins. It was one of my first actual stage roles. It was what really lit the fire to get me involved in the theater, and helped me to get into the Artistically Talented Program (later the Pinellas County Center for the Arts) at Gibbs High School.

But it wasn’t just the things I got to do with her as my teacher that made her special. What made Mrs. Clark special was that she listened to us. She treated us like human beings, not mindless sheep who were supposed to tow the line and never question authority. She joked with us. She challenged us to think for ourselves. She never talked down to us.

When you’re going through your early teens, having an adult in your life who does that can truly make all the difference.

When I was in eighth grade, she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.

At the time, we didn’t understand what it was. We asked her if she was going to die. She said no. That was all that was important. Mrs. Clark was going to live.

It wasn’t until years later that I realized how debilitating MS can be. Not until my doctors thought that I had it and I actually did some research. Of course, by that point years had passed.

Recently, I went to a show choir reunion with her. She wanted to get as many of her old show choir students to her final show as possible. She retired, you see, because not only does she have MS, but her husband has some kind of very rare disease where his body does not produce it’s own red blood cells.

She drove out to Seattle recently with him because that is where he’s being treated. It’s a risky procedure, and they just found out that when it’s over he can’t drive back.

So she has to find some way to drive back on her own.

When I got her mass e-mail talking about this, I did exactly what I thought was the right thing to do.

I wrote her back and told her that if she needed me to, I would try and find a way to get out there and drive back with her.

It was a way for me to show her how much she meant to me. It was something I could do to let her know that she wasn’t going though all of this trying business alone.

And it’s something I’d do for one of my friends.

Because that’s what she is, now.

It’s so odd.