I can't even come up with a title for this one, and I don't think I want to.

Tomorrow, in less than 24 hours, I am going to my first funeral. I'm going to watch them bury a kind, sweet, intelligent, wonderful man.

His name is was Mike. He was 22.

He and I had some amazing conversations over the 18months that I knew him. He gave me a swift kick in the ass when I needed it, and commiserated as both of us tried to figure out what to do with our lives. He told me he admired me, and I told him that coming from him that was a compliment of the highest order.

I meant it to.

I have so much to say about him, and so much to just say in general, but it'll have to wait until after tomorrow.

The only reason I'm leaving the earlier post up is as a reminder to myself...a reminder that stupid shit like that is just that - stupid shit.

I...the rest is going to have to wait.

Damnit.

In Which the Author Pens an Open Letter to the Universe

Dear Sir or Madam:

It has come to my attention that as of late you have chosen to indulge in activities some might term as being "mind games." While I respect your free will to do what you wish, might I ask that you please remove me from your test group?

I appreciate that I have hardly suffered relative to the millions of others, and that I am hardly in a position to make demands. Still, I must respectfully ask that you cease and desist.

I understand the value of going through times where feeling uncomfortable and like a waste of space are the norm. How else can I be expected to appreciate the beauty of times that are not like that? I appreciate the value of occasional depression, or even an extended period of such times. I value the need to see the dark so that the light is understood.

But really, this latest trick? That was low. And dear Sir or Madam I must insist you halt your activities immediately.

Showing the first bit of metaphorical spring after a long metaphorical winter, only to snatch away the warmth through some ill-timed computer trickery? Indeed, surely that behavior is beneath you and your kin. Shame on you, shame on you for showing compassion only to take it away with a Nelson-esque "Ha Ha!"

In closing, cut it out. I am doing well for the first time in quite some time and I have no intention of playing your little game.

Regards,

Anathema.