"Sit back and enjoy the ride. Remember to scream if you want to go faster."

As the eloquent and insightful Therapy caused me to realise, sometimes one must simply live instead of trying to capture life through words.
Sometimes words can do no justice to the simultaneity of exhilaration and pain.


But I finally decided to stop being a lurker on my own blog, and in cyberspace in general. After the silent perusal of at least a gazillion blogs I have come to the conclusion that I love the voyeuristic ones that give you random and intimate glimpses into peoples lives. Of course there are Blogs About Things, and they are especially helpful for the unhampered individual or group perspective they offer...but those aren't the ones I'd choose to spend my time savouring.

Perhaps the only reason we have any concern for the other is that we see the fragility of our own beings reflected in their moments of strength and weakness.I'd rather read about what the priest wrote when he questioned his faith at lunch today, why the mother felt like crying when her three year old made a fish face at her from the window and why you feel like you can never love again.



A smiling boy who's face I wouldn't have missed otherwise, died in a car crash a few weeks ago. Suddenly, he's tinged my thoughts a dull unwashable blue. Every time I'm in a car that picks up speed, a knot tightens in my stomach. I think about that smile, the few conversations we had scattered over the years and the last few moments him and his girlfriend spent together in the car...the image is searing because it's so familiar. Alcohol fumes laughter and your hair flying in the wind. The lights flash by faster and faster but you never once doubt the false sense of security that comes with being young and feeling free.


It still doesn't seem to make sense. Standing at the memorial service of someone I saw every day at school, I found myself clinging to the same strange metaphysical explanations I've heard Adults offer.

"Perhaps he was only meant to be with us for this brief time to teach us something."

I'm not entirely sold on the idea of a Divine Design. But I believe his death has taught me something. That life is precious and whimsical. That it is entirely what you make of it, yet it is frighteningly outside of your control.

Is it a normal reaction to death? This sudden lust for life? Wanting to hold on to every moment of bliss, boredom, thirst and inspiration?
I feel insatiable and unapologetic. I'd rather be brutally honest than speak in well chosen words. I'd rather be ravaged by Nietzsche's carefree, mocking, courageous warrior than mother the tortured existentialist.
Maybe it's because I'm turning twenty two in eight days.


Or maybe it's just spring.