I have so much and nothing to add to the conversation. So…that says “blog entry” in the clearest sense, right?
We have imposter syndrome, even in grief. We don’t feel we have the right credentials to say anything about our loss. You must be This Sad to memorialize a friend. Please keep your personal interactions out and ready for others to inspect and make sure they are authentic and worthy of your eulogy with a photo on Instagram.
No one is checking. We put this entirely on ourselves. The whole point of someone touching many lives is all of those lives will be forever changed when that someone has left us. There will be a lot of good stories if they did it right, and we are all left questioning every word of our last exchange, self-flagellating over the simple passage of time. How dare we not make more of the time we had, we scold, and why didn’t we say the exact right thing to keep them here? We are so powerless until we think we’ve fucked up, and then our actions change the world’s axial tilt. An impressive feat.
Then come the messages reminding us to “tell your people you love them.” We don’t say that because it will stop someone from ending their life. It never works if they’re determined enough. They know you love them. It just doesn’t stop the hurt. We say “tell your people you love them,” because we have no idea when they’re going to go. We don’t know what will take them away from us, but something will someday. So they should know now, right?
This week, someone complimented me profusely and said they were giving me my roses right there and then. It was a profound statement, and I shifted from foot to foot, not knowing what to say. I was grateful as hell, and I didn’t quite know how to express it. Two days later, you’d be reported missing. And the talk of roses and when to gift them began anew, just like it does every time we experience loss.
It isn’t that I talked to you every day. It’s that when I did, we went right to the middle. To the good part or the hard part, no filler. As the stories and memories come pouring in, I realize you did that with everyone. You were the grandmother who made the kids their favorite cookies when they came by and asked that they didn’t tell the others. Then, Grammy dies and the kids find out she said that to each of them. You made everyone’s cookies by making them cry laugh, cheering them on, sharing secrets and filthy jokes, setting them up with interviews or dates, and making them feel special.
And you succeeded, of course, because that’s what you fucking did.
When pain hits us this hard, we cannot believe this is normal. We refuse to accept something this heavy, this sharp, this bottomless could possibly be grief that everyone else feels. We must be feeling the world’s pain, the way a child feels pain for the first time - all consuming. It must be our Empath (the 5th Hogwarts house) nature that is taking over, our bodies collapsing under the weight of all grief. It isn’t that we were touched by others’ memories or that they sparked our own memories and stirred feelings in us. Can’t be. This is physical. This is excruciating. It must be the ache and mourning of the world, all at once.
It is. Because that’s how many goddamned people you touched. You dick.
The part you didn’t count on is what that would do to all of us. You knew we’d grieve. You told me you knew that part. I tried to explain just how much it hurts to be left behind this way. You got it, but it couldn’t dent that beast’s wall. I don’t know that you could have calculated the questioning, though. The feeling of being cheated out of time and connection. The constant worry that we were not enough, that we missed something or could have helped. You knew no one could, but that’s a weight everyone carries with them next to their keys now. You turned attention away from yourself until you were completely ready for your closeup. Until you had a show or a commercial or a bit to an animal to save, no one was allowed to look at you. Because it was too much to look at everything all at once, so you disappeared to protect yourself. It was an act of self love, in a way, and I wish that same energy would have allowed you to quit everything and just start over.
But wishes ain’t shit. Hope is too delicate to carry out loud.
About a million years ago, we were having an exchange that I posted here. And of course, I’ve read it repeatedly since Thursday, because you told me to tell the world about it if you died. I told the world while you were still here, of course, and I’m gonna do it again. Because you were right, you prescient shit. Everyone is indeed talking about how you saved animals and how inspirational you were. But don’t worry; they’re also talking about your filthy mouth.
I love you so fucking much. So does everyone else. I wish to the Christ we don’t believe in that you loved you that much. That you thought you were good enough as a human being to stay. That you alone were worth it and that it didn’t cause you so much pain to exist. That every kindness you paid everyone wasn’t currency - they’d love you for you if you let them. You didn’t need to shove them away, love. I understand it, and I’ve been left behind before. But it’s the idea that, when I think of you, you aren’t in your space, existing and beaming and struggling and flourishing and pissing off the world. I just hope wherever you are is gentler. I also hope they can handle your godamned mouth.
So…because you told me to talk about our discussion of some vegan wipes called “BOX” for your vag after you were gone, I’m doing it, you asshole. This is you. So is everything else.
Lindsey
can't wait to wipe down my tugboat with those lil nappies.
Corrbette
Haaaahaaaaaa
hahahaha
i'll be all, vaaaaance, it's cleeeeaaaan
But you'll be all, "omg SMELL ME"
"Did you use it on your face first? Please say first. "
hahahahaha
also, BOX.
i wish it was PUSS.
PUSSNAPS
hahahhahahaaaaaaaaaaaaa
FISH B GON
I was so happy it was BOX. But...Pussnaps...Y-Wipes...
HOSTANK NO MOR
lollll
SLITTOWLETTE
Gone fishin? Nope. FISH B GON
Oh my god haahahahaaaaa
AXE.... wound.
I'm dying.
hahahahaha
Meat Curtain Cleanser
FOLDSHAMMY
yessss
DEAD
hahahaha
Wheeze laughing.
Klassy Kuntz
FRESH FOLDZ
hahahaha
kuntz
Haaahaaaa
Lilly...of the Labia
hahaaaaaaaaaa
Okokok I'm done.
nooooo
Ha!
Muff Magic
CLEANLY CLAM
muff magic.
omg.
This is the best game ever.
we need to let them know they really screwed up their marketing.
then we start on taglines.
something simple, like...
Scented Snatch
"scrub that shit, whore."
Yessssss
"Your natural scent is disgusting"
"PUSS. 'cuz yer gross."
hahahahahaha
yesssssss
"the way you're made isn't working for me".
"You smell like hot dogs and no one likes you."
LOLLLLLLL
The way you're made....ha
"What is that horrible smell? IT'S YOUR CROTCH."
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
"FOLD WIPES. because seriously, bitch."
"THE STANK IS COMING FROM INSIDE YOUR PANTS."
Haaahaaaaa
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
omg
dying
Fresh Foldz, because did you fucking die down there?
"FISH B GON. because that pussy is just no. so stop it."
hahahahahaha
I'm going to wake everyone up.
hahahahahahhahaha
Is just no. Omg
vance thinks im insane right now.
the only tragedy is that this thread isn't public, for everyone
to be reminded of how awesome you are.
Pasko is asleep next to me. This is goddamned impossible.
Likewise, love. Because THE WORLD SHOULD KNOW.
"SLITTOWELETTES. because if i lysol that thing
i'll get a restraining order."
That truly, we are the best source of vagina jokes on planet earth.
Haahaaaaaa
Klassy Kuntz...when fire isn't an option.
haaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Vagina Violets, because your womanhood smells like socks.
"MUFF MAGIC. the next best thing to it disappearing."
SOCKS
Haahahaaaaaa
hahahahaha
Muff Magic, cause your pussy needed a goddamn miracle.
LOLLLLLLLL
"FRESH FOLDZ. or you can leave."
Haaahaaaa
Oh fucking hell yay.
Fresh Foldz. Because what the fuck is that, cheese?
HAHAHAHAHAHHA
Pussnaps or gtfo.
if i die, i am gonna need you to post this to facebook, because
everyone else will be all, "blehh blehhhhh, lindsey saved animals and
inspired others, blehhhh", and i will need you to be like, "THIS is lindsey".
HAAAHAAAA. I shall. I will show the world your legacy.
THANK you. i knew i could count on you.
And likewise, when I die, you post this and
remind the world I'm someone's mom.
off to bed. i love you.
i WILL
I love you back. G'night, you amazing hoooor.
Ok, so maybe it wouldn’t be read by the rabbi, but it’s here. I just wish you were. But wishes ain’t shit, and hope is too delicate to carry out loud. I’m going to keep carrying it, just a lot closer to my heart.