Carrie Fisher is dead and I am crying at work

– choking Jabba to death, with rage and the chains of her prison, but no fear

– I didn’t understand her cameo in the Blues Brothers, but I liked it

– her snark in Soapdish was eternal and amazing

– how many movies and shows did she script doctor? How many? Tens, dozens, of the movies of my youth and young adulthood were funnier, snappier, kinder, more human, because of her and I never knew it

– I watched Postcards from the Edge an easy half-dozen times in college

– never ashamed

– Bianca in Scream 3 was perfect, everything I could have wanted

– the press tour for The Force Awakens

– Gary Fisher

– Twitter

– never ashamed

Carrie Fisher was a role model, and honest to God human being we could aspire to be like. She earned every damn bit of grace she possessed, earned it by fucking everything in her life up over and over and then clawing her way into being a better person.

She was a better person.

She was a snarky, complicated, deeply flawed, wonderful person. An amazing writer. A fantastic performer. Her honesty in all things was breathtaking and inspiring.

When I say I want to grow up to be a Crone, to be a Baba Yaga, to be Cordelia Vorkosigan, what I mean is I want to be like Carrie Fisher.

Rest in peace, General. We really could have used your leadership in the next few fights. But we’ll go forward, on your behalf.



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