Another Death

So, uh...

Not much on my mind this time. Some thinking will have to be done before a sufficient post can be made.

So...

Logan McKiernon. He died Sunday morning at 2:51 AM in a car crash. Everyone in the school is all depressed. I seem to be one of the very few people who really didn't know him. I just saw a picture of him today and remembered who he is.

He used to play the french horn in elementary school. When I was in 6th grade, we were doing a band performance and he, in 7th grade, was to play with us. I accidentally forgot my music and so he was unable to play. He just sat there kind of awkwardly with us. I had memorized most of the music, so I was able to play some.

...and that's the only memory I have of him. He seemed to hang out with the annoying jocky crowd after that. From what I noticed of him in passing, he seemed to be an alright guy. I had no problem with him, and he was one of the few in that group that I felt that way about.

...

So Monday was spent with everyone around me feeling depressed. Even people who didn't know him felt depressed, simply because the enviroment they were in was depressing. I was one of the few that was completely unaffected. I just tried to stay very quiet that day.

Even if I did know him, I don't think a death would affect me much. Death is such an inconcievable prospect to me. Most everyone seems to feel unsure about his death, which causes them to, since they think it is the 'right' thing to do, feel very depressed. When I don't know exactly what to feel, I just choose not to feel anything, rather than delude myself into feeling what I think I should feel.

...

So I tried to imagine people that are close to me dying. The shock would be too much, the confusion too great for me to feel anything at all.

I wonder what would happen if I died. Would the school be mourning my death? Would it matter nearly as much as this popular guy that everyone seems to like? I don't think so. A select few people would feel sad, perhaps, but I don't feel a deep connection to anyone anymore, except for myself.

I just realized how depressing that sounds to me. I don't have any really good friends, anyone I can talk to about anything and feel completely comfortable around. Nobody.

So that's why I talk to a blog. Who else will I confide in? I won't be criticised here; Nobody is going to tell me I'm wrong. I can leave that decision up to myself.

I want a dog. Dogs really are man's best friend. They unconditionally love, and don't ask for much in return. They don't criticise; They don't tell you you are wrong. They let you do what you want, believe what you want, hate what you want, love what you want.

There's no obligation to do anything. A life without obligation would be so much simpler. But we had to go and evolve those big brains so we could all develop different social rules determining what is acceptable and what isn't. We should have never left the trees.

Fuck it. We should have never left the oceans. Unicellular organisms never feel sadness.

A very Douglas Adamsesque and Kurt Vonnegutesque thing to say.

...

Wait a minute.... was I just about to end this post without once mentioning Mairead?

Wow... I really am improving at this whole 'getting over it' thing.

I guess a clean slate really was appropriate.

...

This is the second blog that began with a death. Is that symbolic of something? I don't really know. Easier not to think about it.

I'm starting to like Brask more and more every single day. He's so logical, and so.... right.

Thanks, Brask.

First Post

I was always secretly hoping for an excuse to abandon the other blog. Now it appears I finally have one.

Dad found it. He read the whole thing, but told me that he wouldn't be following it any longer. I don't believe him.

I would very much like to write, but I have limited time before I have to go.

It feels good to start fresh. I'll do what I did when I abandoned the first blog - perceive myself as a completely different person. I'm not the guy who fell in love with Mairead. I'm not the guy who pretended to know what life was about.

I'm someone different now. That feels good.

...

...so much symbolism in this. I'm sick of symbolism. I'm sick of metaphors. Things never are what they seem. They always have to be something different; something philosophical.....

I have to go.