Funerality

Ken posted about funerals. I decided to copy my comment here. I’m too tired to add more tonight.

I have all kinds of weird and wooly ideas about death and funerals. I do think the soul goes somewhere, is recycled eventually. The body is just meat once we die. This is one more reason I’m not a vegetarian. I like my meat.. well never mind.

My Dad died a few years ago, we burned him. He wasn’t well liked and once he was gone no one actually rushed to pick him up in his urn. I finally did. He’s still around somewhere. My brother scattered some ashes when he took a trip to Scotland a couple of years ago. The rest of Dad is at my brother’s house. I’m not sure where.

You may assume I have a casual attitude about death. I don’t think I do. I do see it as pretty final. You don’t get a reset button – which would be really useful when you think about it.

All of my Grandparents and their siblings are dead. I used to write letters (real snail mail letters) to them all. It was a lot of people to tell the same news to. But I’m adorable that way. Just ask them.. well, I guess you’ll just have to trust me.

I could not look at the corpse in the coffin at any of my Grandparents funerals. The idea just grossed me out. They weren’t there any more and the left overs were dead, I didn’t want to see them that way or touch them. I sat down while everyone else filed past. I read a book at my Grandfather’s funeral but that was because I didn’t want to cry. I focused and the book was just distracting enough.

I miss my Grandmother most of all. My Grandfather was the best man who ever lived but I miss her more. She was funny, annoying and I think we had a lot in common. But we came from different directions, very different lives. Life makes you different from who you might have been. But, I think of my Grandmother every August 31st (her birthday) and every St. Patrick’s Day.

200 Characters, Or Less

200 Characters. Can you write something using 200 characters (not counting spaces) or less?

Late Nights, Caramel Coffee and The Sims.

My body craves bed, all snug and comfortable. My face feels tired and wants to close off for the night. But here I am, playing The Sims, drinking caramel coffee long after midnight has come and gone.

A good way to twist your words around to fit into a tight spot. Count your letters online at Letter Count. For those who can’t do 200 letters try 200 Sacred Words. (Found this the next night).

I also found the Word Count Journal:

Sometimes a little bit really does go a long way. In Word Count Journal, by gradually building up your writing stamina and discipline, you will see just how easy it is to get a whole lot done. By simply writing a set number of words each day, every day, you will write a whopping 66,795 words at the end of one calendar year. Little by little, through the power of series, the total of your written words will add up to more words than contained in the average novel.

Pen and Not So Much Ink

From Chatelaine magazine:

“A recent study involving brain scans found that women get the same gratification from giving to a good cause as we get from eating chocolate or even a night of sex.”

I can see that. I do like giving something to someone when I know it was a good choice and will be used well. That’s another good thing about Christmas. No wonder it’s such a great holiday, all that chocolate and giving gifts too.

I’m using a new pen tonight. It looks really pretty and sparkly on the outside but the ink inside isn’t much use. It kept skipping so I had to retrace my letters and lines. Annoying but true.

The snow is really piled up outside but it was sunny for awhile today and a bit of it melted. Looks like there might even be an end to the car craziness in sight.

The Unknown Anniversary

It’s a sad story… but not unusual. Woman meets man, woman never hears from man again. The only twist in this tale is that the woman really did believe the man, every nice, kind and sweet thing he said.

A mystery can be fun to read in a book, keeping you guessing, trying to outsmart the writer. But, in reality a mystery just haunts you forever. It’s been a year so far. I can’t see it not going on forever, bugging me, making me wonder and doubt everything and every man.

His name was John. I think it really was his real name. He made me fall in love with him. Even though we never met face to face. I’d outgrown a silly Internet infatuation. The curse of the desperate and the lonely. I was past all that. So, it took me a few months to really believe him.

He wrote real letters to me. Not just those awful, ignorant, careless letters most men string together. John wrote in sentences and paragraphs, just like a real human being. He wasn’t perfect and he accepted that I wasn’t either.

We got to know each other over the months, emailing as life threw a lot at both of us in our individual lives. Yet, even when I suggested I was a curse cause things had gone so badly for him since we began talking, he told me that was untrue and he felt just as strongly that we were good for each other. He intended to meet me and I intended to meet him. Life just kept getting in the way.

I moved, yet again. He was sued by a client and had a lot to deal with, on top of searching for a new job. I was setting up my own business and he told me he was proud of me when even my family could not say something that wasn’t backhanded encouragement.

John had a cancer scare and I didn’t hear from him for a couple of months. Meanwhile I was job hunting myself at the new address. The business plans were faltering. I wondered how he was doing.

Then I had an email from him. Things were picking up. He had a new computer and was going to send me a very long and detailed email as soon as he set it up.

That was June, last year. I never heard from him again.

It bugs me. I can’t stop wondering. Was I a sucker? Did he get hit by a bus? Did he change his mind when some skinnier woman let him get a good screw?

Did any of it even matter?

Why can’t I just forget. I’ve forgotten so many other men over all the years of my so called social life.

I think I can’t squish that last tiny bud of hope that says I will hear from him again. Sometime, some day… maybe. The sad thing is that I still want to.

Posted by A. Nonymous. Cause it sure wasn’t me. I’m not that sappy and silly.

Hob Junting

I don’t like looking for work cause it makes me feel I’m asking for something, which I am. I’m asking for a job. Would it help if I said please? …

Probably not.

It’s like making it easy for people to reject you. But, in the case of job hunting it’s usually for a real reason not just something silly like you wore the wrong socks that day. At least that’s my theory.

But, I’m back to it. Sending out resumes and lettery sort of things.

As if that wasn’t enough there will (maybe) be an interview for me to really royally screw up. I’m just not good in these situations. I know I could do the job and do it well, if they let me get past the bs to apply for it. But, people suck up that bs like candy. Some people live off it, having great jobs with buckets of money and all the respect of their peers. But, it’s still bs.

Note the bs is in small letters today as I don’t want to offend anyone who might actually hire me. LOL

If only I could just win the lottery and have my own business. I’d be great plus I could eliminate most of the bs. Not all, I’m not that far gone into lala land.

The above graphic came from a pretty cute resume, someone should hire that girl.