Unfulfilled, not reciprocated, unjustified. So there.

Hi. I'm at a group home again. The same one I was at last time I spoke from a group home, and there's just too much going on to NOT say something to whoever still reads this other than Scott. My buddy.
Let's get started. I'll begin with the less upsetting, more minor items for discussion. So it's been months since I last went to the gym. I'll go again soon, when my evenings don't fill up quite so quickly. I swear yesterday morning I had nothing planned beyond this evening, and now suddenly I have something every evening. So anyway, I thought I'd try expanding into the mornings, and today I woke up a little bit earlier than usual and went swimming. I plan to try to do this every other morning. It really wasn't bad. It showed me how out of shape I am tho, which is really more encouraging than if I had done it effortlessly. I plan to improve on my kick turns. I'm not sure if that's really what they're called but I think logically that makes sense to call them that. Anyway I'm hopeful in that regard.
I'm at the group home again, like I said, and it's still so hot out that the cicadas are still going. And I can hear them because the AC is out and the windows are open. And I'm sweating profusely. Alex came in twice for scrap paper because he's writing a short story, and I thought that it was a good idea to distract oneself from the heat. So that's what turned me to this. Bella has already come in and said something about the Jews and how she can't smoke in the house and asked whether I thought she could afford to live in an apt on her own because she wants everyone else to leave. The empathizing is not really there because she didn't seem to care where the rest of the residents went. Charles came in and asked for a razor blade because he looks younger without fuzz. I have no idea where they keep the razor blades, I thought the residents kept their own so I called three people and tried different keys to check different cabinets. He found one. It was pink. He asked if I was married and how old I was and that my boyfriend should hang on to me because I have a beautiful hairdo and a pretty name. I thought Charles was quizzing me on how old he was if he was born in '63, but he really didn't know. I'm not sure if it was the year he wasn't sure of or whether he didn't know the math to find out his age. He asked if I thought "they" would hire him eventually even though he's 46 and I said "sure". Of course I did. He's a very friendly man. He could probably smooth talk his way into selling tvs or something. Rick just came in, worried about hurricanes. There's a tropical storm named "Bill" off the coast of Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic. Rick decided Bill wasn't a threat after much contemplation and staring out the window because those places aren't near here. I feel like I'm overheating but I'm resolved to the fact that I'll be here til around 10:30. PM.
Now comes the sad part. The really sad part. The part that I can't do anything about. Because honestly, I can call Frank the maintenance man and have him tell me to plug in the dishwasher and then it'll work. And I can think cool thoughts and wait for the rain to come and I'll cool off. But nothing can bring back a dear friend of several of my dear friends. Nothing can quiet that miserable feeling in their gut that they won't be able to make him laugh again. I suppose that depends on how you feel about it. Perhaps some of them think he'll come back as a deer, or a chuck, or a squirrel, or a really fascinating bird. Perhaps some of them think he'll be watching them from above, laughing his ass off at their antics and shedding tears of appreication at their support of his family. Or walking behind them on a trail, listening to them reminisce. Eavesdropping. Is it comforting to them to think of these things? I find it comforting that maybe some of them are hopeful in that regard. Because I worry less about how helpless they feel. But for those who are unsure about post-death existence, or non-existence, how do they quiet the mourning? How do they come up with self-soothing and self-supportive thoughts? I want to give them really big, long hugs. It's upsetting to think about it because I can't right now, but I really really really desperately want to. Hugs and kisses all around. I want to make it better and that's not possible. But I love them, really, or else I wouldn't feel like this. I wouldn't care as much. I'd feel like it had nothing to do with me, and it doesn't, but as a friend their grieving feels tangible. It's wafting over from the park like a heat wave, and it's strong. I'm surrounded by it. It's coming from that side of OB too. And there's nothing I can do. I don't like ending on that note so I'm going to change the subject. On this I feel hopeless and helpless, and lost.
Bella wants to use this computer. Apparently it's designated for residents and the other computer is designated for staff so I need to move my butt. More at a later date. Perhaps then it'll have a different tone to it.
Til then, much love.