Yesterday Elise and I went to see 50/50, which is about a young guy who is diagnosed with cancer and how he and his family & friends come to grips with that and the 50/50 chance that he will die from it.
Of course everyone dies at some point (generally at the end of their life - har), but with Elise's dad having passed a couple months ago it kind of brought it home that, right: my parents are going to die, probably while I'm still alive, and it's going to suck a lot. So yeah, combine that with the autumn change of light that puts me in kind of a delicate spot (and having a couple people I care a lot about who are trying to get rid of their cancer, and my grandma having been in the hospital for a couple weeks) and let's say I've been thinking about death more than usual. I can't really figure out an eloquent way to say that. I guess that's why there are poets; people who can take something that probably everyone realizes in a visceral way at some point in their lives, and make it sound both beautiful and extraordinary.
In other, pretty much unrelated news, one of my fish died. And the damn thing didn't float, so I didn't discover it right away. I found it probably a few days dead, with its fins rotting off. Rest in peace, my poor motor-challenged Gimpy. (Actually what I called that particular fish.)
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