you never know what you have until its gone.
this is a popular cliche. and one that is more apt to everyday social context than most realize.
you can wake up one morning, bowl in hand, 30hrs of sleep under your belt, and some meth ready to blaze, all the while thinking that you are headed to the beach to hang out, because in the normal world, well, shit is normal.
oops, your bad.
then you randomly happen to call home. not out of any great concern for it, or anyone, but because you havent called home in, fuck, well it must be days now, but surely not weeks. not weeks. could it be? fuck.
of course it could.
and then you find out the truth.
he's gone...............
awake, but not present. alive, but not aware. here sitting amongst the memories. lost in the haze of my translation, i am giving it poorly. but what would you know of me if you didnt understand my translations. isnt that the primary context by which you gauge who i am. by your own relation to my personal rendition of things.
so back to here and now.
she is 33 years old, for gods sake.
5 kids, dammit, five of them.
and at this moment she is gone. a shell, a slack caricature of herself.
the essence remains.
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