Blue, like the color.

A dear friend, one of the dearest I've ever known (and am likely to ever know), is in mourning. Most likely the weather doesn't help, but still . . . .

It's good to mourn when the feeling strikes. I think too many of us feel pressure (both internal and external) to 'snap out of it' and get back to the business of our routines, but that's bullshit in my opinion. Not to say that wallowing in sad feelings ad nauseam is highly productive, but still . . . .

I remember once about two years ago I didn't get out of bed. Just one day I woke up and decided that there really wasn't anything going on outside of under my covers that I cared to engage in. I don't recall feeling particularly melancholy either - I just made the decision (of course now in retrospect I realize there was definitely something more significant than an arbitrary decision taking place).

My mom peeked in a handful of times during the day - at first to shake her head at my sloth, but as the day progressed and the sun rose to it's full height and began to descend again, I remember noticing how her level of concern took on the inverse relationship. Finally, just as the streetlights were about to kick in, she said something.

"You're being weird."

But with her accent the last word came across more like wared (I love the sound of that word from her mouth).
-
Hells yes I was being weird. ANd . . . ?
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She paused at my door longer than she had all day, still neither of us did anything. Instead we listened to the last stream of air from the last syllable she uttered dissipate into the ether. She closed the door.

I stayed in bed well into the evening, until a completely unannounced, surprisingly relentless craving for ice cream guided my hand to push back the covers, sit up and put my feet on the ground.

I was done.

I had mourned, and now I would gorge. Who did I harm? Aside from my lactose intolerant digestive system - no one.

. . .

Back to my friend, who's feeling a bit - you know. I think she gets it. She came over to my place and pretty soon after arriving, began to cry. Nothing overly affected, just a good old fashioned cry.

When she finished, she looked up at me all red-eyed and sniffly . . . and smiled.

Yeah, she gets it.