Things are weird these days. That's what everyone says. Even death is weird, people feel weird with death, like what do you do? Well, you celebrate the deceased's life a bit, cause it feels good to do that. It's part of the deal, we figure that participating in that makes it safe to assume that we'll be celebrated a bit some day, when we're not around to join in. If only my wake could be like finnegan's. But it feels good, in the muddy mire of weirdness.
My sponsor lost his sponsor. To liver failure, after 25 years sober. The 2nd liver didn't take, but if it weren't for that transplant interlude that give him another year of life, and fucking vitality to boot, I never would have met him. And damn am I glad I did. But he left weirdness in his wake - that will become a spot of gum from the eighties on the concrete, fluorescent colours unnoticed from above except as a speck in the gravel grain, contributing as pixel to the mean hue.
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