Monday, June 27, 2005
I must apologise to all the people who have come to this blog expecting to actually read something. Gosh, there must have been all of...oh, one of you, as far as I can tell.
The plan was to get all the links and other customisations done before really getting started. I was all fired up and ready to go over the weekend, until I got the news that a girl I know had died of a collapsed lung following an asthma attack, and all the wind went out of my sails. So to speak.
Emma was eighteen years old, and not your pale, asthmatic, aesthetic type, either. She was a lifeguard, damn it. Young, fit people shouldn't drop dead with no warning whatsoever, it only encourages the rest of us to move down the pub and start eating Woodbines.
Part of me feels awful for the family (of which I am, at some rather distant remove, a member), but the larger, solipsistic part of my nature feels bad because Emma had everything cut short before she even got started, and here I am, with eleven years and forever rising on her, still on flat on my arse.
What if it had been me? What would people say? I doubt it would be anything along the lines of "it was so unfair, he had everything to live for, just look at what he achieved in such a short span, we'll never get to witness the full flowering of his talent," or in fact anything like that.
Anyway, it makes you think. Makes you get all metaphysical and liable to declaim that there is no purpose, and there is no plan, no destiny, no "meant to be," rewards for the good or punishment for the bad. It wasn't "her time," because there is no time, no allotted span, nowhere to go when you're gone except the thoughts of others who'll just rot away themselves. Those of us who have made some effort to reach people, or really piss them off, are remembered after the passing of our peers and become history. History eventually finds something newer to get excited about and drops us from the syllabus. If we lived a particularly memorable life we might eventually be considered legends, but even legends pass out of mind, sometimes to become myths, who, if they're very good grow up to become archetypes. Everything we are comes from the death of others just like us. We are the living forgotten memories of everyone who came before us.
But I wouldn't really say I have a declamatory nature.
So, the funeral's on Friday, which makes it the second funeral I've been to this year and also only the second one I've been to in my life.
That makes 2005 a memorable year in my book.