Sightings of People as Passionate about (Addicted to) Coffee as I am (SOPAPACAIA) #4

SOPAPACAIA Sighting #4

A shopping centre in the Northern Suburbs of Melbourne

Sighted: Me

Now before you go accusing me of being all narcissistic, I will let you know that

1) I despise narcissists, having had the unfortunate hand of having to deal with one such stellar example all too closely in my life, taking me to the scarred-for-life point-of-no-return dimension, and

2) I was actually NOMINATED by a passer-by. With the observation “You’re on a mission! With a trolley, and a coffee… and a baby!”

Yes sir, indeed. You have no idea. Explaining now.

Last week I was charging through my local shopping centre, with coffee in one hand, the other manoeuvring the shonky trolley which was only 1/3 full (you all know how shocking the trolleys get once they are full – well envision a packed trolley with a toddler in there too). The coffee was too, too hot (bittersweet scenario in fact), the trolley was moving from side to side, I was trying to entertain baby girl as well as I could while passing the too-hot coffee from burnt hand to burnt hand, manoeuvring said trolley between hot hands in between, and aware of the time factor, and HUGE shopping trip I was just beginning.

If the shopping takes too long, baby girl starts to get irritable. No one wants an irritable littlie around Christmas time.

This huge man started to walk by me, and with big eyes poked his head in my direction and said the above, with an incredulous, Islander accent.

I rest my case.

Dead on Time

Unlike my previous estimation, in the past week and a half I’ve attended 3 funerals. Not really a record I wanna be making, or breaking.

Death has been not only a present factor in my life, but in the lives of my family and friends. Two functions this month have been cancelled because of said Deaths, with one notably being scaled-down due to a family members passing.

Throw in some other bad news from the media, also of a ‘Grim’ nature, and it just feels like the start of what’s meant to be a very festive month, has started off very, very sad. I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s been affecting everyone. It has to be planetary, it’s too much of a coincidence.

Something occurred to me while I was at the most recent funeral (and which I’m hoping was my last). I had entered the service only a few minutes after the start time, but the Italian priest was already well underway into his piece. He was speaking with such conviction, that I wished I could understand what he was saying. It sounded important, and like it might just change my life. Nevertheless I kept listening, trying to remember what I could of the language I’d dabbled in at high school when I was 13.

Sitting there, I suddenly realised that with all 3 funerals, I’d been, we’d been, late. Not by much, only a few minutes past the hour for the commencement of the service, but still. Few minutes past, and we were late.

I thought of other occasions held in churches, not of a sad nature. Weddings never started on time. Christenings, you could bet your life they’d be running late, babies being surely unpredictable and all. These joyous, happy, memorable occasions never ran to schedule. Arriving as a guest, LATE, you would be forgiven for not being on time… because the guest-of-honour would most likely not even be there yet.

Life. Death. The living are late… and the Dead don’t wait. They don’t wait for no one.

These thoughts kept circling in my head. The living are late: we have all the time in the world, yet really, it’s the one thing we all complain about – lack of time. And the deceased have no where to go, yet they are punctual. On time. For what? The afterlife?

So maybe, we should keep complaining. Keep running late. Running late, we have somewhere to go, someplace happy to be. Someone to see, and company to laugh with.

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.

Scared to go Asleep

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S.J. WATSON – Before I Go To Sleep

“I would have a day of grief and pain, would remember what I miss, but it would not last. Before long I would sleep and, quietly, forget. How easy that would be (…) So much easier than this.”

That is one of the terrifying concepts explored in this exceptional thriller. What do you do when every morning you wake up, and can’t remember how you got there, what is going on, and who that man is in your bed?

Christine Lucas is a 47 year-old woman who deals with this extraordinary scenario, every single day. Having had an ‘accident’ that eventually developed into amnesia, she is unable to form new memories, as well as remember ones that have occurred in the last couple of decades. Her memory is wiped clean when she falls asleep, and on many days not only wakes thinking she is still a teenager, but also a child.

The horror of not remembering the last 20-30 years of your life I just find unimaginable. But the terrors don’t stop there. Oh no. Watson in his first novel, delivers a fine range of mind-f^&king shocks that make you truly feel sick, and lonely.

*What do you do when you can’t remember anything? How can you trust your mind, any memories that do come to you, when your mind has already failed you?
*How do you blindingly trust someone that you can’t remember?
*How do you deal when sudden and faint memories don’t match up with what you’re being told?
*And like the above opening line, what happens when you do remember something, but the pain is so harsh and frightening, that you’d rather forget it all ever happened?

The events that start to set things in motion for Christine is the presence of Dr. Nash, a neuropsychologist she’s started seeing in secret, and a journal she begins to keep in order to help her remember who she is, when she wakes each day. Her meetings with him are a series of tests to help strengthen and test her mind, to see whether there are any remainders of memory left in there, while her journal serves as a great narrative tool, not only propelling the story forward with its presence during most of the book, but it assists Christine by helping her to discover and compare what she is told day by day. Is an amnesiac a good person to take advantage of, when you know their memory fails them every morning? Hell yeah.

I learnt of this book a couple of years ago, from a work friend, who told me his mate in the UK had had his debut novel picked up and was going to be turned into a movie. Yep, a friend of a friend. Pretty cool. I didn’t get to pick up a copy at the time, but having returned from maternity leave and my work colleague asked if I’d gotten to it, I decided now was as good a time as any, buying it within a few days. It is, or recently was out in cinemas, with actors like Nicole Kidman and Colin Firth starring… you may have heard of those names. 🙂 The casting of certain actors actually made me change my opinions of some of those in the book, as it is quite common that actors have a certain reputation, and usually fit in quite nicely into the role of good-guy, bad-guy, avenger, or the romantic lead, to name a few. The casting of Colin Firth as Ben, Christine’s husband, threw me off what I was reading, but that’s all I will say. No I won’t. I’ll go as far as to say that I accidentally read the last line of the novel, and was spewing because I was only half-way through the book. But even that, although very clear, wasn’t what ended up happening as I expected, to some degree, even though the last line, and who says it, is fairly telling – BUT DON’T READ IT!

(How do you accidentally read the last line of a book? I do this thing whenever I start reading a book and get right into it, where I want to know how many pages there are and how far I’ve come in comparison… further to the look-at-the-book-from-the-top-and-see-how-far-the-bookmark-travels-through-the-spine thing I continuously do as I’m reading, I flick to the last page, and try to find the page number while trying to keep my absurdly insane and curious but don’t-wanna-know-any-spoilers contradictory eyes AWAY from the contents in the middle of the page. This time I failed. Hard when the page number was just below the last line. Damn)

It’s a fantastic premise, with real life amnesiacs having been the inspiration behind Watson’s idea. The twists and turns keep coming, and the hooks arrive quickly keeping you glued to the pages, as you’re just waiting, hoping that Christine discovers what she needs to know about her past, the broken pieces that will help her piece it all together. The last 80 or so pages I read in one go, as I just had to know how the book ended and couldn’t go to sleep until I did.

I’ve always thought of my parents and the older generation, and how it must feel for them, to know the things they know, and want to do some others, but be unable to because of their age. A young mind in an old body. This is Christine’s realisation when she wakes every day, and she sets about her day coming-to-terms with what she learns, reading her diary, and making decisions… only for it all to be reset the next day.

That’s tough. I did find it amusing how every day Christine had to read what she wrote previously, as well as write in her journal. It would take forever I thought, but it was something Watson thought of with mentions of her just skimming through certain sections. Lucky. He covered himself there.

It’s a scary thought though. There is one deliberate mention, where Christine comes back to her journal after writing of her intention to go out with Ben. She writes:

“I cannot say. I didn’t write it down and do not remember, despite it being only a few hours ago. Unless I ask Ben it is lost completely. I feel like I am going mad.”

Having to rely on others, who can be unreliable, or your journal, which if lost or you fail to write in it you have nothing to rely on, is a very lonely and scary concept. You are truly alone, with only yourself, yet no memories to back you up.

I loved his metaphorical mentions, external descriptions that expressed the real undertones happening below the surface, reminding me of what I try to do in my novels. Christine has just discovered a shocking secret and is looking at the TV:

“A remote-controlled submersible craft was exploring an underwater trench with jerky twitches.”

There is sadness too, not just with Christine wanting to forget some things she’s learnt, but with the thought: how does your family deal with you? How difficult would it be for your loved ones, if you were scared of them every day, and they had to talk you through your history, every single morning? A very sad thought emerges when Christine is having dinner out with Ben one night, and when he says he loves her, she doesn’t respond. He says “I know you don’t love me,” and Christine later thinks:

“He is a stranger. Love doesn’t happen in the space of twenty-four hours, no matter how much I might once have liked to believe that it does.”

Christine’s point-of-view is written in a very spell-it-out fashion, but I believe this is so due to the case at point – amnesia making her want to record everything, and not miss a thing. Watson’s ability to write on some very telling matters, in specific scenes, like a woman, is impressive. It makes me think he had a real good go-to girl for those points. Either that or he’s a superb transporter.

The one thing that wasn’t explored, also the one thing my cousin asked after I told her about the book, was the thought of trying to stay awake. One thought I intermittently had was why doesn’t she try to stay awake? I guess there was nothing too pressing to stay awake for, but wouldn’t it be something you’d want to test? If your memory was wiped clean every morning, would you perhaps consider only letting yourself sleep a couple of hours, to see how your memory responded then, and then only have short bursts of sleep to get through the day? I try to stay awake when I have a million jobs to do, let alone if I knew my memories would be gone the next morning!

The surprises and shocks keep-a-coming, way after you think they’ve stopped… so beware. My notes all over the second half of the book reveal how many radical theories I had, and I started to very subtly guess at what ended up eventuating, with one other main thought/hope coming true. Even so, I was on the edge of my bed every step of the way.

One line towards the end of the book, one question… it equals Terror. Pure Terror. I remember the hairs on my body standing.

Must read thriller!

Please let me know your thoughts on Before I Go To Sleep in the comments below, I would love to discuss with you 🙂

Happiness Is… #7

Three nights ago, putting up the Christmas tree. Listening to Buble and Mariah in the background, doing their own equally fantastic versions of ‘All I Want for Christmas,’ decorating the branches, putting up festive expressions of cheer throughout the house… so freaking excited.

Yes, I am that person who enjoys Christmas songs. Suck it.

I get all happy and nostalgic-emotional at this time of year when I enter shops and they’re playing Christmas tunes… bless.

Christmas + Summer + Holiday Season = Good Times 🙂

(How do you Winter Christmas-goers cope? With lots of warm alcohol I bet 😉 )

Bittersweet

Def’n – Bittersweet, adjective (Bee-tuh-sweet): Obtaining a much needed cappuccino fix whilst out shopping, and though the caffeine-flavour being of pleasant qualities, being unable to hold the cup in your hand because it is too damn hot.

Bittersweet. Also a poisonous woody vine.

Saucy eggs at Henri’s

Little Henri
850 High Street Thornbury

Within moments of walking into this establishment on a late Saturday morning, I knew I was going to be happy.

We were seen by a waiter who I immediately realised was the guy I had spoken to on the phone earlier in the week. Back then when I’d enquired about booking for brunch on the weekend he had informed me they didn’t take weekend bookings, but that they would try to accommodate our posse when we came in.

So we decided to stuff it and just see what happened.

What a posse it was. There were five of us girls, with four of us coming with at least one baby/child. There would be three prams in amongst this, and two high-chairs. It was a big gamble, which fortunately paid off.

I could see there were quite a few communal tables inside, and I was wondering where they would set us up when we were led out the back to the outdoor covered area. They pulled a few tables together and voila. Chuck one baby booster on chair at one end, another on another end, and all we needed was our posse to join me, bestie and baby girl. We were facing a wall covered in cute little pot plants.

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The back area had another section accessible via some stairs, and this was uncovered. Both the indoor and outdoor areas were pretty spacious, and given that it was late morning, it didn’t seem too packed.

I have to remark on the wait staff and general work flow of things: there’s nothing quite like a well-oiled machine. I was impressed with the waiters, the efficiency with getting us seated, organised, and with menus, and then staying on top of things and making sure when we were ready to order…. ON THE BALL. I was mighty impressed. The waitress who initially served us was across everything, she was brilliant. And they weren’t overwhelmed/annoyed by our gaggle of baby paraphernalia (babies included). Real professionals.

It was after 12 when we eventually ordered, and even though I’d had a light brekkie at home of weetbix, I just had to choose from the brekkie menu. I love places that serve breakfast past midday, they are just the bomb.

I had the Baked eggs with tomato parsley and capers with fetta

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I’ve never had baked eggs before, so I was keen to try it. And it was really yum. The eggs were very slightly still runny, and surrounded by saucy goodness and topped with creamy fetta… mmm hmmm. I felt like I could have kept eating it, long after my saucy eggs and buttery bread was gone. I don’t know if that means I was really hungry because it was encroaching my lunch time hour, or whether their servings are on the small side. Either way, I demolished it, along with some fruit toast from a friend’s child who didn’t eat all of his. (!)

My coffee was great, but (you guessed it) lukewarm by the time I got to it, through no fault of their own (insert broken record track), but awesome. Also had mugs reminiscent of those they use at Rivers, but these were green.

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I had a great time there, even though at the same time I was highly stressed because baby girl was getting antsy towards the end, and all the kids there, adults included, were getting a bit cabin-feverish confined to their chairs.

Food: 8/10. Would have given more if the servings were a tad bigger. But great presentation, loved it.

Coffee: 8/10.

Ambience: Chilled and relaxed, both indoors with the communal tables, and outdoors with the garden vibe.

Staff: Fantastic and efficient. Just the way I like them.

People: Youngsters, hipsters, creative types, couples, friends meeting over lunch, and even a pair of grannies met for coffee! Baby girl tried and successfully scored adoring smiles from a couple of guys behind us who saw her cheeky smile, who informed me that she is, yes, so so cute. Baby girl – 1, guys effort to remain unfazed by said cuteness – 0 🙂

Price: Reasonable, but maybe slightly on the up side for brekkie. But justifiable, because it’s great.

Advice: They only take cash! Fortunately we all had the dosh on us, but there have been times we’ve been out and someone has had to pay by card… so take cash! I don’t understand why any café, restaurant or shop in this day and age does not have an eftpos facility, it just doesn’t make sense. Although we weren’t caught out, it is terribly, terribly inconvenient. The times Hubbie and I have eaten out somewhere, only to learn at the end of our meal that they don’t take card, resulting in one of us doing a quick dash to the nearest ATM…. So annoying. Please owners, install a facility. It couldn’t be that hard/expensive, seeing as you’re in business, could it?

Also, they apparently don’t split bills on weekends, and this I’ve heard of in other places too. Maybe not a problem for some, but if going with a group of friends, and then they only take cash too…. just be warned.

In a nutshell: Great place that I’d love to go back to. With $$ in wallet. But otherwise no faults Henri.

Little Henri on Urbanspoon

Murder comes to Darcy’s town

(Disclaimer: I wrote this review earlier in the week, days before the death of P.D. James. R.I.P.)

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P.D JAMES – Death Comes To Pemberley

“If this were fiction, could even the most brilliant novelist contrive to make credible so short a period in which pride had been subdued and prejudice overcome?”

I love this little homage that James makes in reference to the predecessor, and inspiration behind the novel that continues the tale of a little-known couple called Elizabeth and Darcy. Not only did it highlight to me just how little time Darcy and Elizabeth did spend together in Pride and Prejudice before actually making their commitment to one another, but it cemented just how good an author P.D. James is to make a quip such as this one and make it part of her follow-up on the future life of the Darcy’s.

I got a precursor to her clever wit before actually beginning the book though – In the Author’s Note she wrote that she owed Jane Austen an apology for involving her Elizabeth in a murder investigation, with Austen’s views on these matters made clear at the end of her novel Mansfield Park:

“Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody not greatly in fault themselves to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest.”

James’ response:

“No doubt she would have replied to my apology by saying that, had she wished to dwell on such odious subjects, she would have written this story herself, and done it better.”

I loved the book already, and I hadn’t even started it.

What also amazed me before actually commencing the book, was reading that James had been born in 1920. What? I did the calculations… she was 91 when this book was published, now even older at 94! I only hoped I could still be writing at that age. What an accomplishment, of both age and career.

In a spoiler-less nutshell, James’ take on the future of the Darcy’s takes place 6 years after the end of their tale in Pride and Prejudice in 1803. It is the eve of an annual ball, and the estate is shook by the sudden and unprepared arrival of Elizabeth’s sister Lydia, screaming that her husband George Wickham has been murdered. What follows in the rest of the 6-part book (not including the prologue) is a discovery, a scandal, an inquest, trial, and of course a resolution.

As I started to read through the book, the amazement with James’ ability to match Austen’s prose, and my old love for these characters grew. It was like meeting up with old friends and seeing where they had been and what they had been doing for the last little while. Although there can be fear of a follow-up tale, especially one that is not written by the original author of the successful bestseller, not being even half-way up to scratch against the predecessor, Death Comes to Pemberley is such an original take on the romantic story dealing with issues of class and convention, that many times I actually forgot that Austen hadn’t written this herself.

You see that James shares Austen’s cheeky wit and sense-of-humour in the following line:

“It is my belief that, for a woman, love more often comes after marriage than before it and, indeed, it seems to me both natural and right that it should.”

I find these lines utterly amusing and fascinating. Perhaps I find them so novel because I’m not living in a time where men’s opinions of women are more of ownership, than equal partnership. And of course the above was quoted by a male. Figures.

There was also this beauty:

“It is never so difficult to congratulate a friend on her good fortune than when that fortune appears undeserved.”

There is also mention of a man named Joseph Joseph, so called because his parents were so enamoured by their surname they gave it to him also in baptism. Surprisingly, the fellow ain’t so bright. I loved being pleasantly surprised in moments here and there, giggling at little things like this that lightened the ‘thriller’ aspect of the book, much like I had smiled too often while reading Pride and Prejudice.

For me, reading books such as this one is not only enjoyable because of the writing and the characters, but because of the different time and place in which it is set. I find it fascinating to read of a time where this stuff was the norm, a time when such innocence was prevalent in almost all dealings, while interestingly and factually a decent amount of indecency was usually present.

I found it almost mind-blowing reading about the ‘help.’ Darcy and Elizabeth’s staff are overly accommodating to them and their guests, constantly on top of everything and helpful to the point of almost being able to forecast what is going to happen and prepare for it beforehand! Or at least that’s how it felt like. It would have been a very lovely and innocent time to be living, more so if you had the resources to be waited on hand and foot. Elizabeth observes:

“She was unlikely to encounter them on this floor, but if she did, they would smile and flatten themselves against the wall as she passed.”

There is also a couple of mentions of letter-writing, and the notion of a relaxed and luxurious time when one had the opportunity to sit and write, or just read for hours on end, just sounds so splendid to me.

Another amusing yet also innocent moment comes when the men get together to talk and get their stories straight regarding the night of the murder at Pemberley. All I could think of is “isn’t this like tampering with evidence, that being your minds and memories?” Isn’t that why members of a jury are forbid from being exposed to outside bias during a trial, so as not to be swayed by opinion, and hearsay? I found this absolutely ridiculous, but I think it was deliberately inserted to show the innocence and naivety of the time, even in an age where the law was taken so seriously, as stated later during the inquest and trial.

I could go on and on about how well James imitated Austen’s world, and how fascinating I find that world. I love how during the night of the murder, Elizabeth finds it appropriate to say this:

“But you could at least stay and have something to eat and drink before you go. It is hours since dinner.”

How one could be concerned with eating in knowledge of a dead body is beyond me.

Like in Pride and Prejudice, there are important and very thought-evoking questions of class, society, and manners. One amusing example of this is in an event where Darcy has to make a trip, and knows that it is preferred he arrive in a coach, though he would prefer to ride in on horse, but compromises by taking a chaise. The reputation and prestige associated with what mode of transport you arrive in is baffling, but then not so when I remember that Hubbie and I too are wanting to update our car. James also imitates the same spell-it-out fashion that makes you want to sometimes yell ‘why do I need to know that the larger of the two keys was used to unlock the door?’ It all adds to the style I guess.

What else frustrated me about this spelling-the-details-out, and also similarly the great lead-ups to events and long drawn-out establishing scenes, was that as a new writer, I’m not allowed to do them! I do do them, however I am told that new writers must stick to the rules (that of getting to the point), while established writers are allowed to break them all. As witnessed in Austen’s books, and to some extent in James’ one, as mentioned above. Sigh.

I was happy with quite a few additions James made. She showed a bit more intimacy between Elizabeth and Darcy, something we didn’t get too much of in the original. Maybe because they got together at the end of the book, but perhaps more so because of the time. Not that we don’t get much more than a hug here and there, but still, the contact is nice.

Most characters from the original are in this follow-up, and even if not so they are mentioned in hearsay or via letters, so that you get to find out how everyone is going. Even if there are only brief mentions made of someone, James captures their personality and demeanour perfectly to match Austen’s. A particularly fantastic example is made of Mrs Bennett. If you can remember, she was rather impossible, though hilarious to us as readers (and probably at least a tad annoying). When Mr. Bennett is visiting the Darcy’s, he receives a letter saying she has been hearing footsteps outside the house and has been suffering from palpitations in his absence.

“Why was he concerning himself with other people’s murders when there was likely to be one at Longbourn if he did not immediately return?”

There is a quite sudden tone change towards the end of the book, one I found striking given the type of world the story takes place in. All the good stuff though… gore, chaos, tension, nastiness. Like a soap opera, as I observed at one point. James ties up all loose ends very nicely, however at one moment I was overwhelmed with information to the point that I couldn’t keep up, but fortunately some of it was repeated and I got with the program.

I did find it interesting that later on in the book James chose to explain Darcy’s deeds from Pride and Prejudice, as even further closure. First I went ‘no! she can’t do that!’ Should it be allowed, since it’s not from Austen? But then I realised, neither is this book! I guess writing a follow-up, in some ways a completely different book on where the characters have ended up, is quite different to referring specifically to events from Pride and Prejudice, and explaining the actions of the characters then as written from another author. Food for thought.

Oh, and not to spoil, but I have to mention… in the last section, Elizabeth says something to Darcy, and says she cannot promise him something. This part, is beautiful. Watch for it. Because you know what? Somewhere, someplace, she can 🙂

This book was an absolute pleasure, a joy to read. If you loved Pride and Prejudice, and love thrillers… well what are you waiting for?

Please let me know your thoughts on Death Comes To Pemberley in the comments below, I would love to discuss with you 🙂

Seriously, F^#* Me

I’m so stupefied and shocked, I have to say that again:

Seriously, F#&k Me. (Never mind my choice of characters are different every time).

This week I finished writing up two book reviews. I was going to post my first one up, tonight. P.D. James’, Death Comes To Pemberley.

Only 2 nights ago I was proofreading that review. And I was still astounded at James’ age, moreover, that she was still writing at that age. So I looked her up and sure enough, she was 94.

Was 94.

This morning at work I walked past a TV, to see a still image of her.

“P.D. James” it said underneath her photo.

“1920-2014.”

What????

She was alive two nights ago when I wikipedia’d it!

I googled, and the news had broken of her peacefully passing away, only 2 hours earlier.

What the fuck is happening in the world. I’m not looking up people any more.

“With old age, it becomes very difficult. It takes longer for the inspiration to come, but the thing about being a writer is that you need to write.” – P.D. James

What’s Going On?

Some stupid planetary shit is happening up there.

In the last while, there are have been two deaths. Two people I knew who inhabited this world of the breathing (I initially wrote grieving) are now gone. Which means in the following week, I’ll be attending my second funeral of late.

I found out that the Mum of an old friend had a hysterectomy to remove cancer. Today an Australian cricketer died as a result of a freaky, rare accident. I know that around the world, people die, and get sick, every day… but seriously? What is it with all this bad news, all occurring within very close proximity of one another? Is there something out of whack in the solar system, throwing things off centre and creating mayhem and havoc for us mere mortals here on earth? Is Jupiter hanging out too long in Scorpio or something, when it was meant to move out and let Mars retrograde Sagittarius or some shit like that?

(Or is it just life, doing what it does?)

Hubbie said it best this evening. “The one thing no one can buy, is time. Even if you’re a billionaire, and you try to buy back the previous day with all the money you have, you couldn’t do it.”

Time is the most valuable commodity. Let’s not waste it. We’ll never get it back.

I’m looking forward to the most fantastic day that is tomorrow.

It’s Someone’s last day

It’s hard to avoid death. It’s a part of life. It is always present, IN LIFE, no matter how hard we try to look around it.

You can’t arrange it. You can’t say ‘oh hey, hold on there. We have a few festive occasions coming up… you mind holding off for a month or two?’

It comes when it wants to. Unexpectedly. Suddenly. Frighteningly quick, or with a long-drawn out warning. Both methods of delivery are difficult to deal with, with the latter excruciatingly so.

No one talks about it. No one wants to talk about. But it’s gonna happen to all of us, one day or another. We try to ignore it, not focus on the fact, and use denial and procrastination to avoid thinking about it. Even when we’ve dealt with it closely, we still don’t really know how to handle it, when it happens to a friend. There is really nothing, that can be said.

So we say nothing. About the thing that goes hand in hand with life.

Life and Death. Death and Life. One day we’re here, the other….

So enjoy your days. Not just your Fridays. But every day. Because for someone, it is their last.