The Ides of March. I always forget what that is, but I love how it sounds. It has the sound of something like regal fortitude to me (ironically). I should figure out some way to celebrate it. To celebrate the sound of it. The Ides of March. Okay, I just said it out loud and it doesn't sound nearly as cool as it does when I say it in my head. Man. The small things.
I just got back from another funeral. It was for the mother-like figure in the life of a co-worker of mine. Most of the union staff went. For the first time, I think, I let the thought kind of settle a little bit that I'd have to start going to funerals of my own family members within the next few years probably. A sobering thought, certainly. They sometimes call it a wake, right? It can also be a wake up.
I suppose that it's rather natural for the mind to wander over to inspect death a little closer these days. I don't have conclusions, necessarily, but I have been peering into the coffin. Mostly though, it's like a mirror, or an open window. At first it doesn't make sense, but then I realize that staring into death isn't really staring into death at all, but looking into the eyes of life. This isn't a new idea, I know. But it's always a little novel to the person first experiencing it. Or re-experiencing it, which is usually the case. The funny thing about life (life life life) is that it is fully of ifs.
I'm going to go home now and eat some Oreos. Exactly, there is no point.