Confessions of a dead grandfather Pt. II:
Yes, dear readers, for your enjoyment I have chosen to deliver another riveting tale of the Mongolian-cluster-fuck mental state that is my nominal existence; which is comprised of equal parts paranoia, anxiety, and endless Mobius-loop ruminations on things I have no control over. My grandfather passing away is supposed to be something simple. He's alive - he's dead - we all cry - there's a funeral - we eat lunch - then we go home.
Yet I cannot, of course, do anything simply. I don't "do" simple. I have an innate ability to fuck things up to the point where accomplishing anything of note requires a Kierkegaard-ian amount of faith, followed by a Nietzsche-ian amount of introspection, a Sartre-ian amount of despair, and then, finally, a [something witty] amount of [something equally witty].
So when granddad was dieing, in my head, I, of course, had to turn the focus of the event into something which was about me and not him. My solipsism apparently knows no bounds.
However, I feel I am justified in this megalomaniacal transgression. I am about to get married. I am about to marry the woman of my dreams. We have been together for the past ten years and I love her so dearly that when I think about how much I truly love her.....I get very, very hungry.
Watching Granddad die made me realize that regardless of how much I love this woman (named "N"), one day either I'll be where granddad was (meaning - the one in the hospital bed dieing) and she'll be sad and full of despair at watching me die - or she'll be the one dieing and I'll be the one begging and pleading and making all sorts of desperate cosmic bargains for her not to go.
And that realization made me incredibly sad.
I'm at the beginning of a life-long commitment and I've just witnessed "the end." I'm getting the Alpha and the Omega simultaneously and, to be honest, it's a bit much for my little monkey brain to handle.
I've seen the wall I'm now hurtling towards, and regardless of how far off in the distance it may be, the sheer inevitability of our impending misery is scaring the fucking shit out of me. Let me clarify: the idea of death is not scaring me - it's the idea that one of us is going to spend the final days of our life depressed, alone, and wanting death is what I find so scary. I love N so much, I don't want her to go through that. I can't stand the thought of her that broken-hearted. Yet, I don't want to be an old man and suddenly not have her in my life after having spent 50+ years with her always at my side.
That's when I started to cry.
I was crying at grandpa's condition....but I was also crying because I was so very scared at the thought of what's lying in wait....and there's really nothing I can do to prevent it.
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Favorite Student Anecdotes (yay!)
Best impromptu use of a "Tale of Two Cities" quip in casual conversation from one student to another in the hall:
Student: "You better watch out, or you'll wake up with a knife in your chest - so says I, the Jackal."
and....
Best impromptu insult levied from one student to another:
(We were playing a pickup game of ultimate Frisbee and the teams were divided into shirts vs. skins. Obviously the girls on the skins team got to keep their shirts on. When one girl on the shirts team heard this, she yelled to a girl on the skins team):
Girl: Hey Shanell! Take it off! Its not like you dont already get paid to do that!
Yes, dear readers, for your enjoyment I have chosen to deliver another riveting tale of the Mongolian-cluster-fuck mental state that is my nominal existence; which is comprised of equal parts paranoia, anxiety, and endless Mobius-loop ruminations on things I have no control over. My grandfather passing away is supposed to be something simple. He's alive - he's dead - we all cry - there's a funeral - we eat lunch - then we go home.
Yet I cannot, of course, do anything simply. I don't "do" simple. I have an innate ability to fuck things up to the point where accomplishing anything of note requires a Kierkegaard-ian amount of faith, followed by a Nietzsche-ian amount of introspection, a Sartre-ian amount of despair, and then, finally, a [something witty] amount of [something equally witty].
So when granddad was dieing, in my head, I, of course, had to turn the focus of the event into something which was about me and not him. My solipsism apparently knows no bounds.
However, I feel I am justified in this megalomaniacal transgression. I am about to get married. I am about to marry the woman of my dreams. We have been together for the past ten years and I love her so dearly that when I think about how much I truly love her.....I get very, very hungry.
Watching Granddad die made me realize that regardless of how much I love this woman (named "N"), one day either I'll be where granddad was (meaning - the one in the hospital bed dieing) and she'll be sad and full of despair at watching me die - or she'll be the one dieing and I'll be the one begging and pleading and making all sorts of desperate cosmic bargains for her not to go.
And that realization made me incredibly sad.
I'm at the beginning of a life-long commitment and I've just witnessed "the end." I'm getting the Alpha and the Omega simultaneously and, to be honest, it's a bit much for my little monkey brain to handle.
I've seen the wall I'm now hurtling towards, and regardless of how far off in the distance it may be, the sheer inevitability of our impending misery is scaring the fucking shit out of me. Let me clarify: the idea of death is not scaring me - it's the idea that one of us is going to spend the final days of our life depressed, alone, and wanting death is what I find so scary. I love N so much, I don't want her to go through that. I can't stand the thought of her that broken-hearted. Yet, I don't want to be an old man and suddenly not have her in my life after having spent 50+ years with her always at my side.
That's when I started to cry.
I was crying at grandpa's condition....but I was also crying because I was so very scared at the thought of what's lying in wait....and there's really nothing I can do to prevent it.
====================================================
Favorite Student Anecdotes (yay!)
Best impromptu use of a "Tale of Two Cities" quip in casual conversation from one student to another in the hall:
Student: "You better watch out, or you'll wake up with a knife in your chest - so says I, the Jackal."
and....
Best impromptu insult levied from one student to another:
(We were playing a pickup game of ultimate Frisbee and the teams were divided into shirts vs. skins. Obviously the girls on the skins team got to keep their shirts on. When one girl on the shirts team heard this, she yelled to a girl on the skins team):
Girl: Hey Shanell! Take it off! Its not like you dont already get paid to do that!
VIEW 26 of 26 COMMENTS
teerox:
You know, I think everytime I have ever gone to a funeral, I have come home to have sex. Point being, everyone needs an affirmation of life after witnessing death so closely. It is normal to think of yourself, it is the survival instinct kicking in, full force. I suppose most people choose to eat and/or drink themselves into oblivion, but being the deviant that I am, sex is my favorite way to mourn. Just thought I would share.
mngddss:
Pure fucking genius dude. 