Thursday, February 28, 2002

With No Intention of Reading Like "The View's" Blog Counterpart

There's a point to cover. Death. Death in family. Oh, how frightening.

I posted about this in The Asian Book of Wisdom a couple of weeks ago. I can not stand the idea of dying. I find it even more intolerable that my friends or family will (have) dematerialize (dematerialized) as well. I'm only 22. I'm somewhere in the middle of premature and prime. I've not grown as much as I think I have, and I've not experienced as much as my external life may present. So I try and prepare myself, you know? I think about my friends dying, or my family dying, and weep in advance -- so when the day comes, I'll cry like a normal person, not as I would normally, as a weeping, coffin pounding, foot stomping lunatic. Other times, I listen to this rather terrible Alice Cooper record from 1973 where, on side 2 of the LP, he sings, "I love the dead!" over and over.

I don't love the dead. I don't like anything that has to do with dying. I think it's god awful.

My boyfriend, who I share this home with, has been a practicing Buddhist for the past 10 years. I, the Japanese woman of the household, should by nature have these Zen-whatevers built in me. But nope -- I've not the strength that he has to be okay with death. Hell no, hell no, I'll not be a Buddhist. Hell no, I'll not be alright with death. It's a lovely idea, I strive to attain such purist vision, but I know it's a no-go. My fear of death eclipses any modicum of sense I may have.

His (my boyfriend's) father passed away a few years ago. Currently, Pending-Father-In-Law Gillooly lives in a 375 ml Grand Marnier bottle in our kitchen cupboard. He's up there with the dried goods and non-perishables, because otherwise the cats might knock him over in one of their nightly rampages across the flat. Even when I am most hungry, when I can't contain myself because I want junk-food or mashed potato mix out of that cupboard, I will not open it. My imagination is fixated on it being haunted just because some crummy ashes are on the second shelf.

Why am I mentioning this? Because here, on this board, I have at my disposal women of all ages -- some of whom are a bit more wise to the world due to the natural running of time. So I ask you ladies,

Am I gonna get used to this, or what? Dying, I mean.