(no subject)
I don't know who Murphy is, but they need to take their law and shove it. Why is it that when things are going well, they just can't last? There's always got to be something to spoil it, to remind you how fragile happiness is, how fallible we all are, as human beings.
My regular Tuesday morning radio show had gone well, and after a late breakfast I found myself in the rec room with the idea of finding a good novel. The bookcase seemed to have other ideas, however, as it was filled with row upon row of crappy pulp novels about wanton women seducing military men. I kid you not. Some sense of humor, this thing had.
There were a few lone film cans on the bottom shelf, and a movie sounded like a decent alternative, as long as it wasn't Sorority Girl Madness or something. Maybe, just maybe, it would be kind enough to give me Star Wars or Footloose or even an episode of Family Ties. Remaining optimistic, I pulled one of the cans free and flipped it over to read the label.
The can immediately slipped from my fingers and fell to the ground with a clatter, and for a couple of seconds, I couldn't even move. 'Dead Like Me,' it read, and I just knew it had to be about me. How many other people around had found out that their lives were really movies or books or TV shows? As I set up the projector on the far side of the room, I steeled myself for the inevitable, but what I found was possibly even worse.
Mason had been gone for months, and in all that time, I'd never let myself cry. He's someplace better, I'd told myself, and it was so much easier to focus on that than the fact that I might never see him again. I'd taken the shock and pain of it and locked it away, because I've been on the other side and I'm supposed to be all Zen about life and death and the temporariness of existence and all that crap. But seeing him there on screen made me feel like a farce, and horribly, horribly guilty. Before then, I'd not let myself mourn him at all, wouldn't let the feeling get a toehold, but once I started crying, I found I couldn't stop.
[OOC: Yes, she is crying, but it's never a bad time to meet her. She's watching DLM -- It can be any episode.]
My regular Tuesday morning radio show had gone well, and after a late breakfast I found myself in the rec room with the idea of finding a good novel. The bookcase seemed to have other ideas, however, as it was filled with row upon row of crappy pulp novels about wanton women seducing military men. I kid you not. Some sense of humor, this thing had.
There were a few lone film cans on the bottom shelf, and a movie sounded like a decent alternative, as long as it wasn't Sorority Girl Madness or something. Maybe, just maybe, it would be kind enough to give me Star Wars or Footloose or even an episode of Family Ties. Remaining optimistic, I pulled one of the cans free and flipped it over to read the label.
The can immediately slipped from my fingers and fell to the ground with a clatter, and for a couple of seconds, I couldn't even move. 'Dead Like Me,' it read, and I just knew it had to be about me. How many other people around had found out that their lives were really movies or books or TV shows? As I set up the projector on the far side of the room, I steeled myself for the inevitable, but what I found was possibly even worse.
Mason had been gone for months, and in all that time, I'd never let myself cry. He's someplace better, I'd told myself, and it was so much easier to focus on that than the fact that I might never see him again. I'd taken the shock and pain of it and locked it away, because I've been on the other side and I'm supposed to be all Zen about life and death and the temporariness of existence and all that crap. But seeing him there on screen made me feel like a farce, and horribly, horribly guilty. Before then, I'd not let myself mourn him at all, wouldn't let the feeling get a toehold, but once I started crying, I found I couldn't stop.
[OOC: Yes, she is crying, but it's never a bad time to meet her. She's watching DLM -- It can be any episode.]