I wish you were dead.

I've been sitting around thinking about something that is probably unique to me. Sometimes, when I'm dealing with an emotionally difficult situation, I long for the simplicity of grieving over a dead loved one.

God, that sounds so fucked up. But it's true. As I've mentioned many times, I've had a lot of practice mourning over people who've died. There have been a lot. Not very many lately, though. That's a good thing. I'm not meaning to suggest that having loved ones drop dead on you is any fun. I'm glad it's been a while. Instead though, in recent years, I've been having embattled emotional interludes with people who remain resolutely alive. Alive, but rejecting me. Alive, but angering me. Alive, but disappointing me.

There's a grieving process that takes place with it. But it's all mixed up and roily and even less fun than grief normally is. And then I wish they were dead.

Sorry folks! It's been one of those days. For a few days. I have not done myself any favors by insisting on listening to The Velvet Underground, Janis Joplin, Devics, and Nina Simone. Oops!