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Tales from the Steppes


2004-01-15

1:30 a.m.
Isn't it ironic, don't you think?

Warning: This entry was written while under the influence. And no, the rest of them weren't. Really.

So I just can't sleep anymore. Don't know what the problem is. I have a big day tomorrow, not exciting or anything, but stuff going on. Should be asleep. But I am not. Recently, I have not been able to fall asleep before 1am or so. Maybe my body is getting ready for the new semester. Sort of like being pregnant. But not. Wait, is that a master's I'm having? Definitely has taken more than 9 months. So now I sit here, Diet Dr. Pepper and Jim Beam in hand, writing in hope that something will cause me to either go to sleep or do something productive. (I know that drink sounds totally disgusting. But it doesn't suck. Too badly. And it has no sugar in it. Woohoo.)

This morning I was contemplating my mortality as I was driving in to work. Between the horrific crash on 95 on Tuesday and the three accidents I passed on my way in (my very late way in), I was reminded of the fleeting nature of life.

Some people might think this line of thought morbid or disturbing. But it doesn't really bother me. I mean, we all die at some point. And many people would consider me to be a morbid and disturbing person, so I am right at home with these thoughts. (I prefer to think of myself merely as having a black sense of humor.)

But you know, I am not concerned or worried about dying in a car crash. Never even think about it. Why? Because a car crash does not have the crucial element of irony or even black humor that my life demands. I can not imagine my end occuring in a manner that was not bizarre or oddly distasteful or just plain ironic. For example, it is inconcievable that I would simply die in my sleep of a pulmonary embolism. Not dramatic enough. More likely that after the Spousal Unit surviving 3 bouts of cancer, I would get a curable cancer, but die of it. Now that would be ironic. For me there will be no simple heart attacks (unless I am on the toilet, a la Elvis). No, spontaneous human combustion is what is called for. With a body part left behind. Now that would be funny. Of course, now that I have written this, dying on the beltway would be ironic.

I have had a fascination with death and dead things since I was around 8. It started off innocently, with an interest in Egyptian mummies. It then blossomed into an exploration of death rituals around the world. (It might have been a mistake for my parents to allow me access to pretty much any book I chose.) But there are limits to my morbid curiosity into why people die and what cultures do with them afterwards. I might have become a forensic scientist, way back before it was sexy, if it were not for the probability of dealing with dead children at some point. And that is somewhere that I can not go. Definitely an Achilles heel where my objectivity is concerned.

Well, ok. That's not where I want to end because it is a real downer and this was not actually a downer of a subject.

I guess, if the fates gave us what we deserved, I would have to be very careful during tornados, for fear of having a house dropped on me. Now that would be funny.

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