A classmate of mine died last night after having a stroke last week. He had a wife, kids, and grandkids. He was also the Other Fat Kid when we were in school. Hearing that he died from a combination of untreated high blood pressure and unmanaged diabetes–for lack of a better phrase, scares the ever-loving shit out of me. Not even because I’m SO into staying alive and doing stuff, or uber afraid of what happens when we die, but because I’m lucky enough to be surrounded by friends and family who would be seriously bummed if I died too young from something I shouldn’t.
In all honesty, what I would hate most about dying young is the stupid shit people would say about me Bringing it On Myself. You know, for being fat or smoking pot or whatever. People like to lash out when sad stuff happens–my mom was a champion at this. Feeling angry is always easier for me than feeling sad. But with the added death of Philip Seymour Hoffman (with a goddamn needle sticking out of his arm, no less) I am just not able to focus on anything but sadness. Drag, that. I actually have a ton of work to do.
Tomorrow I’m supposed to write 4 articles, 8 product descriptions, and a Millicent Mixter chapter in addition to having H time and cooking a dinner. Should be fun to see how much of that actually happens.Tags: sad, thinky