"We say that the hour of death is uncertain, but when we say this we think of that hour as situated in an obscure and distant future. It does not occur to us that it can have any connection with the day already begun, or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance". Marcel Proust
In Search Of Lost Time, Vol III -
The Guermantes Way, Part Two : Chapter One
I heard this quote before all the events below took place and it never really made real
sense to me. It does now. I can seem rash – I know this – randomly moving to New York without a plan. Why I urge people to just do something and not be indecisive. All because of this quote. And the death of my father. It may not be correct, and it probably isn't, but it's who I am now. Perhaps it'll change.
I do realize though, that the quote doesn't make the same sense to everyone as it does to me and that is why people don't always understand my thoughts on situations. And honestly, I hope they never do find themselves really understanding it.
So, just a warning: this is going to be a bit disjointed and rather oddly written but it's on my mind – given the day – and I really haven't shared the story with many people in New York so I figured writing it would be easier than going into detail in person because I get confused by the sequence of events and the time line. Sometimes it seems like the whole ordeal lasted years and other times it seems like it lasted for a split second. I am going to be as honest as my mind is allowing me to be – and some parts may paint me in a bad color – but it's how I felt. The things I said and did. The things I thought. It's shocking, even to me, to look back at some of my thoughts when it was all going on and think how selfish and insane I was. Perhaps it is common though? A way to deal. To be angry, to be sad, to be indifferent, to shut down, to open up. I'm not a psychologist so I'm not sure but I'd venture to guess I'm not completely alone in all the mixed emotions and reactions that everyone else got.
This is long. When I thought I'd write it I figured it would be a page at most. It sits around 15 pages. If you want to read it, feel free, if not that is fine. It was therapeutic to write. Ignore spelling and grammar errors...I don't feel the desire to go back and critically proof 15 pages of this.( James Terry Long: November 24, 1952 - March 7, 2007Collapse )