Then, I read about the mysterious death of a 19 year old who's close to a friend. These things typically happen in threes. I don't want that proverbial ax to fell again, not today, not when I've had it up to here with...this empty feeling of loss, humility, and the knowledge that *I* will never be what Hunter Thompson was, not even in my best journalism years. The world is less significant without him in it. I think, for this week, I'm going to have to leave the community so it's not continually hammered home every time I open my friend's page. :( Depressing. Just like Hemingway. Depressing.
With genius and great talent there comes a price, and it's typically some mental disorder and/or self-medicating. I hate that for him. I hate that for us.
Blah. I feel kinda sick.
The only good or decent thing that's happened today was a "special entry" just for me (warm hugs, they know who) and the fact that I've been the only one in my group present today. Amazing how much more work I can accomplish with no one here.
Bah. Back to the grind.