I was driving back from Ikea last night, and as everytime I am driving back from Ikea, I was thinking about things. Various serious things I never normally would think about. Last night’s topic of choice was death. And my realisation that I am not afraid of it. I don’t know what it is, and what really happens, obviously, but I don’t believe anything happens. It is just the end. And the end of me isn’t something I fear, because it is not something that important. Everyday, I question life and its point. Everything I do, I question all the time. Nothing means anything once put in perspective, and if you keep in mind that there is an end. J finds that now we have Mini, he feels deathless. I, on the other end feel more like death is getting nearer. I am continuing my lineage, by starting a new line, Mini’s line. But this also means mine is getting to an end. Not now, I hope, but some day. And it makes me happy to know that when this day comes, I won’t be afraid. Because there will be nothing. And how could I be afraid of nothing?
The other news is that we found a sofa. A three-seater no less, so when Death comes over to share some salmon mousse, she can sit on the sofa with us.
My thoughts on this 1) I’m afraid of death 2) but not so much if I’m sure it does not come before I know if Rory end up with Jess instead of dull dull Deanpole 3) which sofa did you get? 4) I’m very confused as to what language I should use when writing to my French sister on a British blog.