Its been an unfortunate waking in the middle of the night, with the news that my neighbour, a 40-something year old man passed away just now.

And I feel like I've just been in a car accident, that shivering pulling of the tummy, and unfocused restlessness of being not quite, but for all appearances, conscious.

I'm not afraid of dying, I just don't want to. I used to not care about living not all that long ago (not suicidally, rather in a whats-the-point kind of way), and its a pretty curious shift since. Life ends, people die, as a person that includes me, at some point my folks, and people I love, and that love me. Its cliched to say, but dying is a part of living.

The point and a more tummy-sensation flavoured realisation then; the stupid job & work bits are necessary, but shouldn't be the all. I hope in working I can lose as little soul as possible. I hope that in living I can gain as little anger & regret as possible. I hope that in loving I have courage enough to quell my ego to celebrate the shared spirit I have with with, and the conviction to trust in my Creator.

Its complex to say, but I may never miss you; I will remember your life and laugh sincerely.