Yesterday I mourned a death.
My day started pretty good. I made a healthy breakfast that got a little burnt because I had to position a camera on the table to catch a good pic of me cooking said breakfast. But it was all good because if no one sees me make the breakfast, it’s flavorless anyway. Science shows that the body takes in more nutrients if more Instagram filters are applied to the food. Fact.
Then I took a shower. Then I took some Me time to really think about me and my life and how things are for me.
Then I did the other Me time. That’s jacking off. I find jacking off to be the most sensual foreplay for sex I might choose to share with a partner, might not. Why share the pleasure of me?
Then, I opened my computer, and my twitter feed was full of some terrible news.
I was distraught.
See, what you might not know, the terrible news concerned a guy who really redefined gender roles for me. Granted, I didn’t know this man personally, never really followed him closely, never had an interest to read any interviews or anything. In fact, I’m just finding out he played the guitar too! Double threat! But the important thing is where this circles back to me and the impact this person had on my life.
Me, I, Me, Me, I.
Sorry. That was autocorrect. I’m not sure what I was trying to type. Half the words I put in just turn back into personal pronouns.
At any rate, I figured this was the time to type this highly personal essay about this person who really meant a lot to me. Because sure, I could have typed this at any time. Maybe even when this person was alive to give him a little credit, a little boost should he ever see it. But no, now’s the time.
You couldn’t possibly understand the impact someone like this had on me. Don’t try to understand. You’ll just hurt yourself. I’m a person who can really connect with others, and you’re a normal person.
My feelings about this are best defined by words I looked up online and haven’t really used before. Distraught is a good one. Destroyed sounds like something from a Transformers movie. Turnt. I don’t really know what that one means, but I feel like it’s good, and the way I react to words in mostly in how I feel about them, not what they actually mean or are intended to convey. To me, language is alive.
This has already gone double in length compared to the eulogy I read at my father’s funeral, so I’ll wrap it up.
I have to move on, but you will always be a part of me. And isn’t that really the best way to keep going? To keep living? Not as your own person, but in my memory, as a part of me?
I think so.