It always takes time, to think how to word these things. Wandering around in a daze all day, trying to explain, to justify, to yourself as much as anyone... I know I never write about the important things here, but this morning I sat in the sallow light for an hour, sleepless and cold, trying to repeat a phonecall's news, anyway.

This morning, at eight-thirty or so, the assistant dean of students called me. And after small talk that I blearily awoke from, asked, in cliched-movie fashion, if I were sitting down.

I didn't joke, though I was about to, that of course I was sitting down--I was lying down, it was so early. All I could think was: Of course, here's the call. My roommate's finally done it, she's finally killed herself, and she never got that help she needed.

But of course, it wasn't that. The world's never that predictable, it's never so planned. Those who want to die, of course, don't. Those who had promise and were happy--even if it was in that geeky way, even if they did annoy you at times--they're the ones that die.

One of the other gals in my seminar class--who I also took Japanese with, and she was always my dialogue partner--died on Friday in a car crash.

I can't say we were close by any means. We were still in that casual acquantance phase of things, and, indeed, I don't know that we would ever really move out of that. She annoyed me at times because she tried to talk politics without knowing a lot about it, and she seemed entirely too fangirlish a lot of the time. Yet I knew her. Rather well. And now, of course, there's that guilt of ever being annoyed with her at all. As if, through death, one's always redeemed their faults...

It was a strange relationship, in some ways. One of the few of my non-friends I've thought about during this break I was planning to come back and tease her about the new LoTR movie. A diehard fan and fanartist, during Japanese I'd seen her sketching Legolas, and I was going to half-joke about how hot Brad Dourif is, I was going to tell her my brother's jokes about how "finally, millions of fangirls can see what they've always wanted--John Rhys-Davies pinning Brad Dourif down!" And now I'm disappointed that I can't. And in some weird way, one of the first things I thought after hearing about the accident was "Well, at least she got to see the movie." And it's odd, but she's such a fan, it seems like a right thought.

Because she was a talented fan artist, and from what I know she had a heavy presence in the community. Not just LoTR, either--she was an otaku, too, a self-admitted one. And she was always trying to get me to say something about how I liked slash/yaoi, too... which was always one of my favorite games. I always lead her on, as she read FAKE in front of me and handed in subscriptions to Asceticism in front of me and casually mentioned pairings and drew pictures of Cloud and Sephiroth, of all the pairings, in my plain sight--and my plain sight only. And I dropped hints, and it was a good game, for me. And I wonder how guilty I should feel for it--because I'm not certain but there might have been I time where I gave in and started joking about that to her, too--about how Asceticism's for elitist sell-outs and how I wished FAKE had a little more sex and how I much prefer Cid and Vincent, thank you, and on and on. But I'm not sure, anyway. The game was fun. But now it presents another problem.

She was a good artist. Not terrific, not any god, but she was good. And she was good at html, too. And I know she wrote fanfic. And so this all leads to one thing--she probably has internet friends. And I don't know if they'll ever hear.

A lot of people never make the connection, between the fake world of the internet and the real. I made it, and heavily--I act the way I do in life online, and groups of friends from home are friends with folk online, and I share my webpage with two "RL" friends and one "internet" friend, for god's sake, it's hard not to make connections. Should something happen to me, people would know. Fast. Of course VK would be one of the first to hear. Of course it'd get quite easily to the friends I've made out there. But in her case... well, you can't be sure.

And I don't know what I should do about that. Should I feel any responsibility, as I've some ties to this absurdist community? Would someone else have a link to it? Would she have made other friends at college who are also in the community who would spread the word? Or will it be an eternal vacation? Will her friends--again, supposing she has some--just wonder about it. Wonder if she just grew out. Got bored. Commit her to long-term memory.

I don't know what I'm thinking these things for. It's not my responsibility. And it's rather pitiful that all I'm left with of her is impressions of her fangirlishness. I mean, she was smart, if not too showy about it... and she was a good artist, and improving daily... But I really didn't know her too well.

Perhaps that's part of the problem. I feel I should have. Somehow. Even if I know that can't be true.

In some ways, I feel surrounded by death.

I wonder, idly, what will come when I get back to school. I wonder how and if I should tell my friends at school before then.

I wait for guilt to disapate. By now, I'm used to the stages of my own grief, and I watch them half-heartedly.

After all, we weren't that close. And sometimes, all I can think about is why it had to be someone who could actually hold a pencil, and not just some dipshit. But it's still hard, no matter what sort of connection you had.

In the end, there's really not too much to say. Perhaps I'm only good at watching my grief, and not actually at feeling it.