Odd Spring Break
After Hayden's funeral, Alex and I were driving home before I went back to school, his death still fermenting, and we began to discuss Tracy Wright, who had cystic fibrosis throughout elementary and middle school, and how much longer we thought she would live, since at times she had to be removed from school during particularly serious attacks. We knew she only had a limited time to live, but before dinner tonight I learned that she died yesterday. One of her close friends, who had the same disease, caught a bad bacterial infection and was basically quarantined from those around her. Tracy was told to stay away, but Tracy visited her anyway. So she caught it as well, but didn't survive.
So before I went out with a friend, I stopped by the wake and stared at her corpse, trying to derive emotion, distill something. But nothing really, just an odd sense. I saw my teachers again, Mrs. Costello again, the same friends from St. Jude again. It seemed familiar. I didn't know her as well as I knew Hayden. Though truthfully I didn't know either that well when they died. But it is so odd. Hayden had spoke of how much he admired her resilience and strength in the face of her debilitation. And now both are gone, three months apart; two people in a very small class. I honestly don't know what to feel. Looking at her in the casket was like looking at a statue, looking at something so alien. She was someone very familiar, someone who I had grown up with, yet it was so foreign.
In unrelated news, I just want to get wasted and get laid. And dance. But there is no one to fuck and no one to really get wasted with. I enjoy being at home and doing nothing but watch music videos, but I feel like since I am in the city I should go out and do something.
I have a grim outlook towards the next quarter when I will be wallowing in stress. Childhood classmates have been dying. I just want to get fucked up.
So before I went out with a friend, I stopped by the wake and stared at her corpse, trying to derive emotion, distill something. But nothing really, just an odd sense. I saw my teachers again, Mrs. Costello again, the same friends from St. Jude again. It seemed familiar. I didn't know her as well as I knew Hayden. Though truthfully I didn't know either that well when they died. But it is so odd. Hayden had spoke of how much he admired her resilience and strength in the face of her debilitation. And now both are gone, three months apart; two people in a very small class. I honestly don't know what to feel. Looking at her in the casket was like looking at a statue, looking at something so alien. She was someone very familiar, someone who I had grown up with, yet it was so foreign.
In unrelated news, I just want to get wasted and get laid. And dance. But there is no one to fuck and no one to really get wasted with. I enjoy being at home and doing nothing but watch music videos, but I feel like since I am in the city I should go out and do something.
I have a grim outlook towards the next quarter when I will be wallowing in stress. Childhood classmates have been dying. I just want to get fucked up.