A friend of mine died last night.  I’d like to say a “good friend”, but honestly, I didn’t know him that well.  We worked together but we didn’t really hang out outside of work.

I think we could of hung out with him under different circumstances – we see things in very similar ways.

He was a little odd – I’m a little odd.

He was pretty far left – I’m pretty far left.

I was tall and skinny – I’m….well, not.

He was the best friend of my boss.  She has lots of work husbands – a polygamist of sorts – but he was special.  He was her best {work} friend.

There is nothing I can do to fill that void.  And I don’t want to try.  It’s not me.  But I do want to help.

I don’t know how to help.

His death reminds me of a discussion I had once.  In high school.  It was a discussion about euphemisms.

The use of “passing” instead of “death”.  “resting in peace” instead of “dead”.

I suppose I don’t care which one people use, but it seems disingenuous when people say “passing”.  It’s not giving death it’s true dues.

So, I guess I do care which I’d like people to use.  When I die, I want to be dead.  Not in a better place.

Some one once said everything happens for a reason.  She truly believes that.  I am holding out hope that all of this has a higher purpose, but I lack faith.  I’m not sure I need faith in this case, but faith might help make things seem more “OK” than they are.

The thought I had tonight on the drive home is “God is cock blocking” us from “being able to make a difference”.  Like things are not hard enough with all the fucked up personalities in our office, and all the fucked up shit people do to each other just because the can, one of the good guys is taken out of the game.

I doubt “God” is really “cock blocking” us – like he really gives a shit about one person’s impact on the world.  Or maybe he does.  In any case, there are a billion people on this planet and right now only one of them matters.

I respect him for fighting the good fight. I respect him more for fighting the good fight without collateral damage.  In some regards I want to be him.

I want people to respect me for who I am and what I accomplished.  I want to be better at how I accomplish things – so people can respect what was accomplished and the man that accomplished it rather than denigrate the outcome based on the path taken to get there.

It makes me think of my Mom.  I guess I’m still not over it.  I guess time will heal all wounds.  I guess time is still linear and the next day comes after this day ends.

I want this day to end.