2001-06-12 | 1:16 a.m.

corduroy licorice liked to live on the edge. he slept on the edge of his bed, only ate the edges of his sandwiches and walked on the curb instead of the sidewalk.

***

i wasn't gonna update tonight. in my attempt to gain control of my life already in progress, i figured i'd better start updating less often. that way i'd go to bed at a decent hour and maybe could wake up at a decent hour, et cetera, et cetera.

sidenote: in the 80s, i had a "etc." symbol carved out of wood hanging on my bedroom bulletin board. it was just like the one mary tyler moore had in her apartment on her show. i thought it was the cooliest. now i wonder...how did that happen? and what about pet rocks? whaaaaa-?

ok, so i'm back. updating like the diaryland crack hound i am. anyway, while wrestling to gain control of said life, i've been thinking a lot about death.

this has come about because of a series of deaths in the families of people at work. four co-workers of mine have lost family members within the last three weeks. a dad, a grandma, an aunt, an ex-sister-in-law. the latter was a young woman taken away by a random bike accident.

in a random moment a person is gone. kinda like i was talking about in my "ok. not ok." thingamajig.

i've gotten a sappily sentimental forwarded e-mail several times over the year. it's about a young widower who is cleaning out his wife's chest of drawers with the help of a friend. he finds lovely lingerie in tissue that his wife had never worn. she was saving it for a special occasion. the moral of the e-mail was to not postpone the specialness in life. use the good dishes. burn the fancy candle. wear the silk underthings on a wednesday night when you're alone, for god's sakes. ok, sappily sentimental e-mail, point taken. point taken.

for some reason, when reaching for my cd background sounds tonight, i picked out my kirsty maccoll CD. she was also taken from life early, which made my music pick feel a bit morbid. she wrote that great hit song tracey ullman was known for called "they don't know." she also worked with one of the musicians from the smiths and was a great performer in her own right. her tropical brainstorm album is full of delightful, jaded-about-relationships-but-still-high-on-life lyrics bobbing about in caribbean-infused pop songs with talcum-y smooth harmonies. the girl goes, even though she's gone.

it's sad when great, talented, well-loved people go. it's awful. but at least they were here.

i'm a little scared of going, but realize it could happen any time. what comforts me is that at least i was here and, mostly due to the people in my life, had a good time while i was at it.

like another often-forwarded, sappily sentimental e-mail says:

"don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened" -jessica nicholas

point taken. quite.

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