Feeling Evita

Evita is my mom’s least favorite Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. I don’t even think she’s seen it, but my mom has this deep hatred for female pop stars, so I think her hatred of Madonna, and Dictatorships, rules her decision.

I love Evita. I love the music. I don’t even mind Madonna. I love the emotion. These three songs have been playing in my head for the past week. These songs speak the messages in my heart.

“Call in three months’ time, and I’ll be fine, I know. Well, maybe not that fine, but I’ll survive anyhow.”

“What is the use of the strongest heart In a body that’s falling apart… A serious flaw. I hope you know that.”

This one is more a reminder for me. I like to distance myself from pain, but this is not the time.

What we’re experiencing is small compared to what some of our friends have experienced in the past few months, so I won’t share the nature of our pain. If I’m quiet, or if I withdraw from conversation for awhile, know that it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with my anger and bitter rage at the world and at myself. I should be in a better place to deal with this now, and I am not. I have only myself to blame.

I’m not trying to vague blog. I’m trying to process this, and it hurts. I’m feeling Evita.