In a fog.

crappy bloody Wednesdays. Hate the sodding things. I was saddened to find out, via friendsreunited, that my first ever girlfriend had died, apparently of leukemia. I only went out with her for four or five weeks, but still....death doesn't affect me as much as it used to. When I heard of deaths before, in particular my peers, it would quite often freak me, but that was because of the senseless or arbitrary way they died. In particular, the deaths of Johnny Barratt (car crash), Trent Whitehouse (murder), Fiona McKenzie (suicide) and Debbie McNeill (carbon monoxide poisoning in a small Istanbul flat) stick in my mind. Young death is horrid. The death of my grandfather, however, was a different matter. He slipped easily into shadow after a long, healthy life. In his final week he lost all sense of time and space, and would as easily converse to someone who had been long dead as talk with me, or be in his native Fort William as be in his nursing home. When it comes to my time (which I hope is a long way off!), I would hope to go as he did: seeing the world for the waking dream it is, and sliding gently away from it, off to new adventures.