Could the following please fuck off?

1. The regular attendees of the New York Philharmonic who clearly do not want to be there.
Look, I can get past the fact that you have somehow been roped into your subscription by your wife, or your generous mother-in-law, or perhaps your own self-righteous need to appear cultured and sophisticated. And while I take my job seriously, my job is as follows: to assist you in finding your seat/the water fountain/restroom, to retrieve your wheelchair/walker, to prevent you from taking flash photography, using a video camera, hanging your mink coat recklessly over the railing of the third tier, hanging your child recklessly over the railing of the third tier, or other such idiotic behavior to which you folks seem inexplicably drawn. Deliberately excluded from this job description are the following: MAKING you enjoy the concert, letting you waltz into a concert forty-five minutes late, somehow granting you an intellect beyond your means, rectifying your foul mood no doubt prompted by your disgusting excuse for a spouse, shaving the head of the gentleman seated in front of you, or single-handedly spearheading an architectural overhaul of Avery Fisher Hall.

2. People I don't know who volunteer their advice to me on Twitter or elsewhere.
Look, I'm not going to stop you from following me. That's the whole point of this ridiculous twitter phenomenon--we have the ability to follow the updates of those who wouldn't give two shits about us if they even knew who we were in the first place. (In some cases, a strange backlash occurs in which we continue to follow someone who does not follow us because they are a member of a certain celebrity elite, but their updates prove ultimately to be so utterly banal and at times even agitating that we choose to stop following them. Read: John Mayer.) Anyway, if you are following me on twitter and I am not reciprocating said follow, it is because I don't give the two aforementioned shits about you. So when your inane, unwarranted advice clogs my list of @replies, it not only pisses me off, but makes me care even less about you than I did to begin with. If I complain via twitter, you can be almost certain I am doing it for comedic rhetorical effect, or simply for the therapeutic release of these feelings into the great unknown. Really, just leave me alone. I think twitter is really dumb anyway, but I buy into it because I'm a total sheep, and kind of an internet whore.

3. People who make spelling or grammatical errors in any public venue in an attempt to sound smarter than they actually are.
I'm probably guilty of it on [rare] occasion and I welcome your corrections with open arms. But when people unnecessarily strive beyond their verbal abilities it just frustrates and saddens me. No, it annoys me too.

Facing it.

I used to awaken from reminiscent dreams of college with a melancholic sort of gratitude. For the rest of the following day I would perhaps yearn for those days but feel no real remorse or pain. Just longing.

Last night's dream was a vivid one, some conglomerate of three years of Informals/Pref Nights of sorority rush, hundreds of girls holed up in one house for endless nights, voices raspy but souls aglow with that strange, indescribable magic that comes during that week when, each year, you fall in love with the idea of sisterhood all over again. Last night's dream was a tapestry of faces and laughs and hugs and unexpected conversations on the stairwells and knowing glances and squeezed hands with people you may have barely known on a superficial level, but with whom you had something much more powerful in common. The uncontrollable laugher born out of ridiculous sobs triggered by altered song lyrics and senior speeches. Passed candlelight. Black dresses. Voices, shaking but strong, joined in song.

And last night, in this dream, Trisha was vivid--her smile, her laugh, and the feel of her one-armed hug as we squeezed as many girls in identical t-shirts into one photo frame as possible.

I did not know Trisha as well as I should have. But in dreams like this I am reminded of the Trisha I did know, one of the faces I would come to associate with the incredible bond we all shared within the walls of that house and would hopefully carry with us forever.

Logistically, her loss does not impact my life on an immediate level. We did not share weekly phone calls or facebook messages. I did not know where she had just been or where she was headed. For this reason, my grieving has been delayed, stifled. When it starts to hurt too much I can instantly suppress the reality of it all.

But when we come face to face in my dreams, when my heart will not listen to my mind, when I feel her presence, alive and beautiful, her open-mouthed smile and sparkling eyes and soothing voice and contagious energy, and then I wake up and know that she is gone, really gone, then I can grieve. Truly grieve. Her loss is an unthinkable tragedy not only to those who knew her, but to those who may have known her in the future.

I wish...I could do her more justice than that. But we do what we can.
I will never get behind the wheel of a car without thinking of her.
I will never return to the Phi without thinking of her.
I will never share a wonderful memory with my best friends without thinking of her.
I will never tell my family I love them without thinking of her.

And in that way, I hope, somehow, I am living for her.