I was going to go on a rant about my ridiculous need for a long life, or even an infinite life If I had my way, and how that desire has shaped what I do (or don't do).

But then I thought better of it.

But I will say that I don't think that I'm exactly afraid of death.

It's more that I feel powerless to stop it, and that annoys me to no end.

Also, the fact that it can come at anytime is very much like a friend (or younger brother) that says he'll get you back for some perceived injustice you've done, only he won't tell you when or where, just that it *will* happen.

...

I was thinking of Samantha today, or rather the carpool I used to take with her when we were kids.

There must be so many other people who have so many more varied and detailed, true, memories of her than I do.

But that memory of the carpool, from the perspective of a child, is one that only me and her shared.

A stupid splinter of a memory that to me is representative of an entire person.

.

anyways, here's a picture for an editorial piece on poppies.