where the writers are
Maudlin Misery

A friend committed suicide.  

The list was amended, another name added.

I reviewed it again, unable to stop.

Death is what is expected.  

We'll all go through it.

I think the greater issue is the pain they knew before they died.


So I thought about an earlier post, Ping Pong.  I wrote this, " But when someone was so talented and special, friendly, charismatic, when they seemed so happy, all we can do is gape and cry, and whisper platitudes that begin, "I wish....".

 That's shallow and stupid, wasn't it?  Even those who are less talented and less special are mourned.   Those without charisma remain a loss, and even those who are painfully unhappy leave us crying and wondering why. 

It's just surprising, I guess, that someone who you admire, who you believed to be happy and successful, decided to skip ahead to the end of their story, omitting so much that could happen.  

I search for a use for life and reasons for why we live and die.  I know on logical sides and intellectually what's going on.  It's my emotional aspect suffering the pain of loss even as my other aspects say, "So?  Another has died.  We will all die."

My two sides will never become fully reconciled.  They're the day and night, the land and the sea, alike and different in nature, needed for each other.  Without one, the other would be incomplete and meaningless.