We'll make the best of what's around
So. I spent a not insignificant amount of time yesterday crafting in perfect prose a post describing the layout of the inside of my apartment door, which is to say leading what is for me a pretty normal day, only to get a call at 12:30 this morning from my friend Erin telling me that our friend Diana died last night, less than three weeks after being diagnosed with leukemia and undergoing chemo treatments so intense that Erin said she could taste metal in her mouth after a visit, and then getting jacked up on so many pain pills that she was worried about who was going to mow her lawn in the middle of January in Wisconsin and having conversations with imaginary people even while Erin was there in the hospital room clutching her hand.
So I can't really think of anything profound or poetic to say about that. Life is insane, existence is meaningless, we're all moving targets, enjoy it while you can, blah blah blah.
Last weekend I got to spend many hours with a lot of very dear friends, and then on Sunday night I left my phone in a cab. My first impulse was to throw a temper tantrum and cry and scream and fall apart, per the usual, and then I stopped and thought for a second and remembered it was just a thing, a meaningless replaceable thing, and that I hadn't really lost anything at all.
Last night someone I love died and I will feel that for the rest of my life, because we were supposed to be old ladies who went to the movies together, the kind who talk too loud through the whole picture and drop all the contents of their purses on the floor then have to keep tapping each other on the shoulder to stay awake. Crazy old movie ladies! We planned on that. And if I could, I would send her off now with a good thick book by Stephen King and The Nightmare Before Christmas and an iPod loaded up with Sting and Peter Gabriel and The Dave Matthews Band and New Order and Collective Soul and probably even that terrible song "Mmmbop" by Hanson, just to make her laugh. Jesus christ almighty, I wish you could hear her laugh. It would tear a hole right through the sky.
(Oh, Robert. Safe harbors, my friend.)