riding to K-mart for an Icee

Everyone says a funeral in Chicago for Thanksgiving dinner is in the offing . . . we’ll see. I can’t, literally can’t, find a reaction . . . I used to think that you were alive a long time, then old (odd/annoying/amusing/inspiring/achey), then dead. But some people spend a long time at DYING, which is a very different thing than either old or dead. And it’s so absorbing in its way that it obliterates the aging process and it also makes death itself so remote that, really, it’s like planet death – you know it’s out there, maybe you should even be planning for it, but then again how could/would you anyway except to try in a general way not be an asshole cz life’s short(?)

I dunno how I’m gonna feel when it becomes a real fact. Some kind of really lousy. They, my grandma in particular, always thought I was fantastic, the wonderful one, most able and most blessed, as if all the others were good too but watered down kinda. My sister still resents it, and I don’t blame her. It was very important to me to have their expectations bolstering my own, otherwise I would have expected a whole lot less. Even when I was miserable, deep down I expected to be happy and was pissed that I wasn’t and kicked up dust making a fuss to get the story back on track. Then I’d visit them and tell them all about it and they’d say ‘That’a Girl!’ It’s not that they expected me to “be a doctor” or any specific thing, they just always said “that one will be blessed”, and so when I wasn’t I felt as if surely there must be some mistake(!) I’d get back in the line of life and foot-tap-tap, honing my re-application argument, armscrossy.

The Aliens - Robot Man (Hot Chip remix)