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Muse, and more on Muse's biggest fan.
Jun. 5th, 2009 12:39 amI managed to get myself a ticket for the 13th this morning. Hoping for a ticket for the 12th tomorrow, with a bit of luck... but I don't really mind if I get it or not. Priority is getting 3 for Tam, Dan and Alex on the 13th. So I'll be back in the race at 9am tomorrow! But for now...
I haven't cried too much up until now; too numb I guess. I dived straight into trying to organise a memorial for her around the time of the gigs, I jumped into the Gigs and Tours forum and helped people out with their ticket problems, I got on with my days, but my mind kept drifting back to her and her family. I suppose it still hadn't really hit me, and it has now. It's so, so weird. Someone I've never touched, spoken to or even seen in person, even at a distance. Yet I miss her so much. Anna and I would sit in here and I'd be on the Board and I'd start laughing, and Anna would say, "Lynzi? What has she said this time?" The news reached Anna in her office, and she e-mailed me straight away.
"No more silly Lynzi?"
Heehee. She was silly; she'd make you laugh intentionally, and she'd make you laugh when she didn't mean to. She always made me think. She had the potential to start political flamewars by saying something as cute as, "I think everyone should get the same wage so people don't get jealous." And you'd think she would know all about fair deals. You know when your parents always said, "You should THINK YOURSELF LUCKY!" when you see a disabled person? She would say she was lucky. I remember when her condition was diagnosed as a proper syndrome (DiGeorge), and you could tell she was relieved and felt lucky to know what it actually was, finally. Lucky that she might even have the option of a transplant, even though the thought of that really scared her. I remember when she had a bout of invasive procedures to have stents put in. She sometimes got angry about all the hospital visits. She'd be angry when her day went wrong, about the arguments she sometimes had with her dad and her annoyance at always being restricted to the house, but at the end of one of her posts she'd always say something like, "Oh well at least I have this/that/something to look forward to."
The small things mattered so much to her, whether it was a Thornton's hot chocolate, a trip to Asda with her mum to buy a DVD box set she wanted, a picspam in her Loveboat, a new batch of (stolen!) mp3s, a new LJ layout, a nice MSN conversation with her latest boycrush, making videos of her puppy... Her LJ was full of tales of her days, the small details nobody else even considered, and I couldn't read them without smiling. I used to tell her that her days sounded a lot like mine. We all do those things, except we try and hype ours up by adding a shovel-load of emo and bollocks. She did normal things. I didn't feel sorry for her, I felt happy that she always made the best of everything and enjoyed herself. She'd sometimes say she didn't have much of a life, that she wished she could just be normal and hang out with her friends like everyone else, but she was and she did, whether in person or on the internet. Every message on screen from her was full of life.
Whenever I felt shit about myself, whinging that I was no good because of my 'afflictions'... it was all nothing when you knew what she had to deal with on a daily basis. I'd be all, "Ugh, everyone hates me 'cause they didn't invite me to the pub." Then I'd open my friends page and see her talking about how fit Caleb off of Kings of Leon is, and (as a sidenote) how embarrassing it was sometimes, being disabled. I'd always joke with her about it, and say something like, "Oh I'd probably wouldn't mind having a wheelchair, in fact I'd love it when I'm feeling lazy." She'd always see the humour in everything. Her sister today said she always used to chuckle and blush, reading the Board. That's exactly how I imagined her. LOLing! She always wanted to have fun, you could tell. The Banter was strong with this one.
More about Lynzi (with a few brilliant pictures)!
It took me an hour to write this 'cause I'm struggling to see my screen through tears. Miss her face.
I haven't cried too much up until now; too numb I guess. I dived straight into trying to organise a memorial for her around the time of the gigs, I jumped into the Gigs and Tours forum and helped people out with their ticket problems, I got on with my days, but my mind kept drifting back to her and her family. I suppose it still hadn't really hit me, and it has now. It's so, so weird. Someone I've never touched, spoken to or even seen in person, even at a distance. Yet I miss her so much. Anna and I would sit in here and I'd be on the Board and I'd start laughing, and Anna would say, "Lynzi? What has she said this time?" The news reached Anna in her office, and she e-mailed me straight away.
"No more silly Lynzi?"
Heehee. She was silly; she'd make you laugh intentionally, and she'd make you laugh when she didn't mean to. She always made me think. She had the potential to start political flamewars by saying something as cute as, "I think everyone should get the same wage so people don't get jealous." And you'd think she would know all about fair deals. You know when your parents always said, "You should THINK YOURSELF LUCKY!" when you see a disabled person? She would say she was lucky. I remember when her condition was diagnosed as a proper syndrome (DiGeorge), and you could tell she was relieved and felt lucky to know what it actually was, finally. Lucky that she might even have the option of a transplant, even though the thought of that really scared her. I remember when she had a bout of invasive procedures to have stents put in. She sometimes got angry about all the hospital visits. She'd be angry when her day went wrong, about the arguments she sometimes had with her dad and her annoyance at always being restricted to the house, but at the end of one of her posts she'd always say something like, "Oh well at least I have this/that/something to look forward to."
The small things mattered so much to her, whether it was a Thornton's hot chocolate, a trip to Asda with her mum to buy a DVD box set she wanted, a picspam in her Loveboat, a new batch of (stolen!) mp3s, a new LJ layout, a nice MSN conversation with her latest boycrush, making videos of her puppy... Her LJ was full of tales of her days, the small details nobody else even considered, and I couldn't read them without smiling. I used to tell her that her days sounded a lot like mine. We all do those things, except we try and hype ours up by adding a shovel-load of emo and bollocks. She did normal things. I didn't feel sorry for her, I felt happy that she always made the best of everything and enjoyed herself. She'd sometimes say she didn't have much of a life, that she wished she could just be normal and hang out with her friends like everyone else, but she was and she did, whether in person or on the internet. Every message on screen from her was full of life.
Whenever I felt shit about myself, whinging that I was no good because of my 'afflictions'... it was all nothing when you knew what she had to deal with on a daily basis. I'd be all, "Ugh, everyone hates me 'cause they didn't invite me to the pub." Then I'd open my friends page and see her talking about how fit Caleb off of Kings of Leon is, and (as a sidenote) how embarrassing it was sometimes, being disabled. I'd always joke with her about it, and say something like, "Oh I'd probably wouldn't mind having a wheelchair, in fact I'd love it when I'm feeling lazy." She'd always see the humour in everything. Her sister today said she always used to chuckle and blush, reading the Board. That's exactly how I imagined her. LOLing! She always wanted to have fun, you could tell. The Banter was strong with this one.
More about Lynzi (with a few brilliant pictures)!
It took me an hour to write this 'cause I'm struggling to see my screen through tears. Miss her face.
