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The screen loads.

the people around him smiled and congratulated him.

He tries his best to look modest, but an awkward grin makes it’s way out.

He’s finally begun to figure it out. it’s been a long time coming.


As I write this, my paternal grandfather is probably breathing, for the last few hours of his life. The doctors love to throw terms at you – tachycardia, urinary track infections, kidney failure; the truth is he’s so old his body’s shutting down.

To the fellow cynics and atheists reading this, don’t worry this isn’t one of those ‘death reaffirms life’ posts, nor has his death led me to find religion.

What disturbs me is that I am completely indifferent. I truly could not care less if he croaks now, or two days later. My biggest concern is the possibility of his death delaying my flight back to the states, and how missing the first week of classes is going to set me back.

Yes, I rationalize; I tell myself that we were never close, that my increasingly venomous relationship with my grandmother poisoned any relationship I could have had with him, and that no one wants to live the life he’s had over the last few years, that quality of life is paramount. All of that aside, how messed up am I to feel no sympathy for a dying man and his grieving relatives?

The truth is, I just don’t know how to react. To me, his death is a statistic, one more name added to the list of relatives that won’t be around any more. I am not in denial – I understand that he truly is dying and have accepted it. Frankly, I hope that freshly signed DNR form means that he doesn’t see the sunrise, only to end the incessant waiting for the inevitable.


If some of you think less of me for this, you’re not the only ones.

they stared. He figured out he’d touched a nerve. Too late.

He grinned ruefully and changed the subject. Another time perhaps.


He sat in deafening silence, staring at his screen in disbelief.

He had known exactly how much it would hurt; he said it anyway.

He sipped his coffee and wound up with a mouthful of mud. Closed the laptop and pushed it away.

Scrambling to catch the bus at 6 in the morning, standing for 3 hours in the cold, scrambling to find a place to crash at after getting kicked out of the hotel we’d planned; there were plenty of moments when I wondered if it really was worth it.

Short answer? Yes.

From the first moment that he stepped onto stage – doing this arrogant, playful and yet intense mad conductor routine with the members of the band (Also amazing btw – the basist was going absolutely nuts) nothing matters but the moment. You loose yourself and everything you worry about- school, money whatever; it just melts away.
You walk out a few hours later, like a slack jawed yokel, ears ringing, smelling of dry ice and alcohol, not really sure about what happened, smiling and content. Then you do it again a few months later.

This semester has been absolutely beautiful. Dream theater, pygmalion, steven wilson and infected mushroom. Im kinda sad it’s ending.
Also, incredibly excited to see Roger Waters next June and (hopefully) sabbath sometime in july/august.

“Oh Once in a while,
I learned how to smile”