When sorrows come...
It hardly seems reasonable to lump the single spies that have shown themselves this week into battalions, and probably it's an insult to somebody, but I am, after all, the center of my own tragedy.
My friend J. died on Friday night. Not sure exactly how. He was discovered electrocuted on the third rail of the El early Saturday morning, so accident, suicide, and murder are all options, I suppose. He was 24, had an infectious laugh, and loved him some Coltrane. Such an odd way to go that the usual perusal of mortality is on hold, at least for now. I'm not good at grief. The funeral's Thursday.
It throws my other stupid frets into perspective, at least. My computer dying for the second time in as many weeks while I'm trying to finish my dissertation (t-minus 35 days) hardly seems to matter at the moment.
My friend J. died on Friday night. Not sure exactly how. He was discovered electrocuted on the third rail of the El early Saturday morning, so accident, suicide, and murder are all options, I suppose. He was 24, had an infectious laugh, and loved him some Coltrane. Such an odd way to go that the usual perusal of mortality is on hold, at least for now. I'm not good at grief. The funeral's Thursday.
It throws my other stupid frets into perspective, at least. My computer dying for the second time in as many weeks while I'm trying to finish my dissertation (t-minus 35 days) hardly seems to matter at the moment.
posted by James at 5:30 PM
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