Atypical Misery

Friday night, 11:28 p.m. People are stumbling and screaming outside already, but all I can think about is the regularly scheduled death of my landlord, who is sleeping on a couch about 12 feet away (on the other side of a wall). The doctors told his relatives not to bother feeding him anymore; despite several successful cancer surgeries, he's as good as dead, down to 90 pounds and spouting gibberish. I have no idea what this death means for me, and I don't care. But it is odd, while people are celebrating Pittsburgh's Stanley Cup win and the Mets' disugstingly awful loss to the Yankees, to sit in my apartment by myself and wait for the grim reaper to ring the bell next door. So it goes.

I spent a night in Ann Arbor, and all I got were these two bizarre photographs.

UP #248: Corned Beef Hash at Angelo's, and...



UP #247: Totally Dead Raccoon

Death Comes to the Gmail Inbox

I just received this wayward email from an unknown Bellinger:

Begin forwarded message:

From: "Adam P" <>
Date: March 21, 2008 11:22:14 AM CDT
To: Amy <>
Subject: Re: Probably soon

Pet her extra for me.

On Fri, Mar 21, 2008 at 12:21 PM, Amy <> wrote:
Ali is slowing down. For the last week or so, she's been really interested in different kinds of food I've tried to tempt her with, but hasn't been able to bring herself to eat. Last day or two she isn't even interested in smelling. Probably won't be long. Just really hit me today. She's been laying in the closet so I fixed her up a box with a towel. She seems content enough for now.