I awoke within an hour of midnight. Feeling rested enough, I decided to visit Twilight, with confidence that she was awake. She was a night owl, always worrying about studying, or worse, studying about something worrisome. I thought it a regrettable state of mind to never be able to let something go. I am “into” fashion, and it is my profession, but if I were to wake up one day and find that all the sewing thread in the world were gone I feel like it wouldn’t bother me so much. I’d be able to cope with ease, move on, and find a new profession, and I think that a strength of mine.

Twilight, on the other hoof, would go ballistic if her library had gone missing, but to each their own.

In a way, I do admire that passion and wish I still had it. A while ago I ceased having those “moments.” You know, the moment in which an idea must simply be put onto paper before any other need can be met, where it flows straight from your mind to the canvas. I remember designing for hours at a time without a care in the world, and being very impressed with myself.  Now those times are scheduled to meet others’ schedules on one very large, arbitrary schedule, and falling behind schedule means altering my coming schedule for more work.

I do believe that by making a living of it, my artist’s heart has been sucked from me. Have no doubt, I am very good at what I do. Others have told me I’m fabulous, and because of the nature of my profit coming from their approval, that is all that matters. Unfortunately, it feels like a dull reflex rather than an attempt at pushing the bar and revolutionizing the art of fashion. Even my revolutions are on a schedule now.

Twilight was very happy to see me, so I smiled back. I must have been as obvious as I was this morning, because she again asked me what the matter was. I told her without hesitation. She was understandably distraught, more so than me, which made me feel worse about my own reaction. Fortunately, she didn’t ask me why I had lied earlier that day, but instead asked how I felt. I told her I didn’t know. I told her I didn’t know how to feel, and she replied that this reaction was common.

She levitated a book from a shelf about the nature of grief and flipped through it. Ponies in grief often go through an emotional cycle: denial, bargaining, anger, sadness, and acceptance. She noted I was probably in denial, which seemed accurate. I hadn’t given my father much of any thought since I read the letter. Maybe somewhere deep down I hadn’t parsed that he was actually gone. It didn’t seem likely since this day felt as yesterday did, and the day before, but it was an excuse.

Twilight wasn’t happy per se to have diagnosed me accurately, but satisfied. About what, I’m not sure. She asked me if there was anything I wanted or needed, and I said, “No, just a friend.” That brought a bittersweet smile to her face and a tear to her eye. She hugged me and I hugged her back.

She asked if I wanted a cup of coffee because we'd probably be up all night having a real, "heartfelt" talk.

I couldn’t refuse. Next Chapter: note six of twenty-nine Estimated time remaining: 14 Minutes