A friend on anti-depressants expressed regrets that life’s hectic ups and downs were steamrollered into bland but safe gentle undulations. We were snowboarding on some incredible snow in a perfect place at a perfect time in our lives, and later he said that he knew it was mind-blowing, but all he felt was that “it was quite nice.”
I had a great weekend, and got to spend time with some lovely, lovely, wonderful people who make me feel that I’m in the right place at the right time.
This morning I learnt that my grandma has just gone into hospital. This is bad. She’s old.
I feel like a complete and utter bastard, but I have to be honest here: one of the things that went through my mind was that I hope I don’t have to miss Flipside to go back to England for some grieving. There are other feelings, of course, and this is just one in the mix.
Maybe it’s easier to focus on feeling bad or guilty in some way about the above thought than dealing with the actual feelings, I don’t know. I remember when an aunt of mine died when I was a teenager – the first death of someone close to me – I just remember being in the house on my own and not knowing how to feel. I went and got my air-rifle and shot some lead into the sky as a salute to her.
Writing this, I wonder if some kids stand at military funerals and observe guns being fired into the air and think that someone is shooting at their god for being so mean.