ArchiveIf this mouse believes in reincarnation his next life will be, "Life Sucks 2: Life Sucks Harder." Then it would be "Life Sucks: With a Vengeance." And with the last, it will add patriotism, "Live Free or Life Sucks."
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Finding Distractions
Right now, I'm either in Texas or on my way to Texas. I'm probably talking with my father about how insane my grandmother was, how she used to park on the freeway and say that other cars would stop because "I was here first," how we'd take 2 a.m. trips to Wal-Mart, or how we were always supposed to go to church but she slept until noon every time. Perhaps I'm laughing with my brothers about the drunk she used to harbor or about her dog that always looked like it my shiver itself to pieces.
Or I'm at my computer, trying to bury myself in my own stories. My fictitious world that only has to deal with the deaths and lives that I can control. Or I'm reading someone else's story, letting them carry me through the preset path the figured out the logistics to long ago. Maybe in the midst of remembering my grandmother, I'm trying to forget her just as quickly.
Regardless, this is the filler for today. I've lined up a bonus Gibberish for Monday. And by the time I come back to voice my thoughts, this will be over. You will have forgotten my grandmother. And, in some ways, I hope I'll have done the same.
Or I'm at my computer, trying to bury myself in my own stories. My fictitious world that only has to deal with the deaths and lives that I can control. Or I'm reading someone else's story, letting them carry me through the preset path the figured out the logistics to long ago. Maybe in the midst of remembering my grandmother, I'm trying to forget her just as quickly.
Regardless, this is the filler for today. I've lined up a bonus Gibberish for Monday. And by the time I come back to voice my thoughts, this will be over. You will have forgotten my grandmother. And, in some ways, I hope I'll have done the same.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Odd, How Things Work
Found out the other day that my grandmother had died in her sleep.
Odd that it came on a week that Gibberish was devoted to death, a fact I decided before I heard the news.
Might not be much, or anything, on Friday.
More death Gibberish tomorrow.
Odd that it came on a week that Gibberish was devoted to death, a fact I decided before I heard the news.
Might not be much, or anything, on Friday.
More death Gibberish tomorrow.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Monday, October 20, 2008
Back Again
This weekend was an odd one, being both busy and relaxing.
On Saturday, my wife and I wandered around the Arbor Day Farm in Nebraska City. I'd hoped it would be more pretty like, full of changing leaves and the smell of the coming winter. Instead, it was as if half of the trees decided to keep their leaves and their mighty green shade, while the other half thought it best to just drop their load in one fell swoop and forgo the whole, color change, pretty phase. All in all though, it was a pleasant day, and it made us feel like we were in some mighty forest--even if it is just Nebraska. That was topped off by some good times with friends, spent in discussion and the watching of Brad Bird's under appreciated gem, The Iron Giant.
Then, yesterday, saw the glorious finish of my critical essay and the somber--albeit peaceful--finish to an extraordinary life. A woman from my church had her funeral yesterday. She was only 28. It's impossible not to consider your own life during such a time, whether or not you've touched anyone's life--especially in the light of someone that had, so visibly, affected so many lives. But if I continue on, I'll just slip into cliches (which is a sad fact in and of itself, that we can't write about death without sounding like parrots).
Anyway, happy day to you all. Gibberish tomorrow. I'm thinking another robot week is in order.
On Saturday, my wife and I wandered around the Arbor Day Farm in Nebraska City. I'd hoped it would be more pretty like, full of changing leaves and the smell of the coming winter. Instead, it was as if half of the trees decided to keep their leaves and their mighty green shade, while the other half thought it best to just drop their load in one fell swoop and forgo the whole, color change, pretty phase. All in all though, it was a pleasant day, and it made us feel like we were in some mighty forest--even if it is just Nebraska. That was topped off by some good times with friends, spent in discussion and the watching of Brad Bird's under appreciated gem, The Iron Giant.
Then, yesterday, saw the glorious finish of my critical essay and the somber--albeit peaceful--finish to an extraordinary life. A woman from my church had her funeral yesterday. She was only 28. It's impossible not to consider your own life during such a time, whether or not you've touched anyone's life--especially in the light of someone that had, so visibly, affected so many lives. But if I continue on, I'll just slip into cliches (which is a sad fact in and of itself, that we can't write about death without sounding like parrots).
Anyway, happy day to you all. Gibberish tomorrow. I'm thinking another robot week is in order.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Why We Don't Have Personal Soundtracks
Today is a heavy day. I woke up yesterday morning, ready for the new day and all the packing it entailed, and my egg sandwich breakfast was interrupted by a phone call from my brother. My Grandma had died earlier. A rude awakening that all to many of us have received at some point or another.
After talking to him for a while, I tried to do the best I could to keep to my task and keep my mind off the sadness creeping through my every limb. It worked for awhile, the music from my computer playing in the background, serenading the day as my wife and I packed box after box after box. (I hate moving.)
At one point, we were so graciously awarded with Kelli's "Milkshake" to fill our earholes. So I come dancing into my wife's and my room, thinking it will be funny, only to find her crying, holding an envelope from last Christmas with my Grandmother's handwriting on the front. I held her and we cried--with Kellis telling us she'd teach us, but she'd have to charge. It made me think of all those times that I wished my life had a soundtrack, and how often certain songs will pop up on my Zune and be so fitting with my current surroundings. Then this happens.
I guess it just shows that there is always some humor in tragedy.
Gibberish tomorrow. Possibly a review for Star Wars: The Clone Wars up by today... if not, then tomorrow.
After talking to him for a while, I tried to do the best I could to keep to my task and keep my mind off the sadness creeping through my every limb. It worked for awhile, the music from my computer playing in the background, serenading the day as my wife and I packed box after box after box. (I hate moving.)
At one point, we were so graciously awarded with Kelli's "Milkshake" to fill our earholes. So I come dancing into my wife's and my room, thinking it will be funny, only to find her crying, holding an envelope from last Christmas with my Grandmother's handwriting on the front. I held her and we cried--with Kellis telling us she'd teach us, but she'd have to charge. It made me think of all those times that I wished my life had a soundtrack, and how often certain songs will pop up on my Zune and be so fitting with my current surroundings. Then this happens.
I guess it just shows that there is always some humor in tragedy.
Gibberish tomorrow. Possibly a review for Star Wars: The Clone Wars up by today... if not, then tomorrow.
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