The annual holiday panic has set in. I feel like I�m running around like a headless chicken, flitting from activity to activity without the chance to enjoy or complete anything. And certainly no time for reflection. Which probably doesn�t make for exciting diary-writing.

Strangely, when I was more actively working as a musician, I did better. When I followed up grad school exams with 10 gigs in the week before Christmas (you�ve got to love those Christmas Eves where you manage a party plus two church services), I didn�t have very high expectations of myself as far as dealing with thoughtful presents and Christmas cards because I was so busy. This year I just seem to be frustrated all the time that I can�t get anything done.

In addition, I�ve been having rather unsettling dreams this week about a series of friends from college. Last night�s was about S., a Pakistani woman who lived in my dorm. I suspect she appeared in my dreams as the result of recent political events. Lately, I often find myself wondering what happened to some of my college friends from that part of the world. But several times this week it has been my old friend B who has appeared. B. was a year ahead of me and she and I were very close friends for the first couple of years of college. At some point, we had a huge falling out, I no longer remember about what, and we were never that close again, although we continued to stay in touch for a while.

Most of the falling out had to do, I think, with the nature of our relationship. B. was an amazing person, vibrant and fascinating. Brilliant and stubborn. She was many things I aspired to and at 18, although I liked to think of myself as extremely independent of mine, I idolized her. She was Hawaiian, a little crazy and much more unlaced than I (some might say unhinged, but I think I knew better). I will always remember her for wearing flip-flops everywhere, no matter what the weather and for her joyous barefoot dances in the first snow of every winter. It was her differentness from myself that fascinated me, but we were more alike than not.

B. also had an uncanny ability to read me in a most uncomfortable way. I had always been a private person, so her pronouncements about me were almost always met with total denial on my part, but they were also almost always totally accurate. She constantly challenged me. She changed my life.

At that stage in life, I don�t think it�s possible to retain a friendship like that as you grow into yourself. It was too intense to endure. At some point, I needed to declare independence. Although I stopped keeping in touch with B. over the years, I always tried to keep an eye on what she was doing, hoping maybe someday we�d run into each other again. She had political aspirations and was talented, so it wasn�t too hard to find word of her in the press. Two and a half years ago, I learned she had died of breast cancer. She was in her early 30s.

Although I hadn�t seen or spoken to her in at least a decade, her death still haunts me. She was the most alive human being I have ever met. I find it impossible to imagine that she is not still around. She was a typhoon. I�m pretty sure I could never have told her exactly how she affected my life. I�m not even certain I can tell myself. But I do things differently -- better -- because of her. I hope she knows I'm grateful.

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