The start of something beautiful. Or not.

It was suggested that I do this by a friend who was suggested by a friend who was suggested by Mr. Alldaffer. You all know who you are.

I don't really know what I should say, because nothing is terribly bothering me. I'm not under much distress, alas that is what blogs are famous for. We're all supposed to say what's wrong with our lives and then let others give us sympathy, or tell us what to do about the situation at hand.

I really don't know much about the whole blogging other than that. I know that one or two people will be reading this, and I'm not sure I would be comfortable if any more were. That's the thing about the internet, I'm fairly certain that anyone who understands English or any of the languages this can be translated into will be able to read my most inner thoughts. That's what I love about the internet, and that's what I hate about it.

God forbid if some lunatics from the asshole of the internet catch wind of this for some reason. They could ruin my life electronically. Isn't that lovely.

Well, there are one or two things that bother me. I've been faced with a lot of mortality lately. It's very uncomfortable. 

You see, my dog died a few weeks ago. The dog had been a part of my family since I was about seven years old. He meant a lot to me, and I loved the little guy. It still makes me sad to think about it. Really sad.

This morning my mother had surgery to have two cysts... drained, or cut out, or ripped out, or whatever they do to them. While the chances of something going wrong were not likely at all, it still begged thoughts of mortality. What if my mother had died. Well, that would be terrible. I care not to think of it, even though it will happen one day.

Damn if we don't all die one day. Truth be told, I think about it quite a bit recently. It's probably unhealthy. Mr. Woody's death, or Mr. Alldaffer's. I wonder if I'll find out. I wonder if somehow the word will go through a grape vine and I'll find out, or if I'll never know.

I wonder if I'll know when Valley dies when we're both old. More likely I'll die first, I'm much less healthy and I'm a few months older. I wonder if he'll know when I die, then.

You see, my way of dealing with death comes from Kurt Vonnegut. My friends who have read Slaughterhouse-Five will understand what I mean when I say that death should not be something to be sad over, because that person is just having an unhappy moment in time, and they have had many other happier moments in time.

I wouldn't be okay with that, actually. I wouldn't want to live my life over again, even though it would not be like that. I follow this philosophy only when someone else dies, because it is comforting to think that they are still alive at other places in time, even if not the current place in time.

This then forces me to think about my other experiences with death, for instance when my grandmother died. Of course common courtesy dictated that my entire family reared their ugly heads, even though most of them didn't know the woman. They knew my grandfather who died when I was very young. After my grandfather, poppy as he preferred to be called, or so I'm told, died, they completely forgot about good old grandma.  I didn't.

It was my mother's job as the youngest to take care of my grandmother in old age, or maybe it's because my mother is the only one who truly turned out successful in my eyes. It's because she's a separatist. She doesn't want to lead, she wants to be by her self. If that means leading, she will, but she could never stand being a cog in a machine. I admire this about her.

My father wants to be the leader. I admire this about him as well.

I should stop rambling now, because the more I ramble the less this will be read. I hope everyone has a good night and day.