eulogy

I should have taken it as a red flag during our conversation when we first met when you asked if i had written my eulogy for my very much still alive mother yet. I thought that was rather peculiar, but you thought it was rather peculiar that I had never even considered a eulogy for the living.

Maybe I should have responded with a witty comeback, such as “No, I have not written a eulogy for my mother, but I’ve written the eulogy for YOUR mother.”

Except …

A. I don’t do witty comebacks.

B. Why would I say something like that to anyone?

Which led to wonder if one could write eulogies for a living. I assume such people exist. I’m certain there must be a demand for them. Perhaps you might need a license to do this at the professional level, not just as a side hobby for friends. But while you’re working to obtain a license, there could be a way to practice. You could write a eulogy for a friend in exchange for them helping you move into your new apartment. Perhaps your friend might choose for you to write the eulogy written for them. Perhaps your friend might like some control over what people say at their memorial. Or your friend might prefer you to write a eulogy for whomever your friend is mourning. Or trying to mourn. Mourning when everyone is expecting you to mourn never feels quite natural. Do you know what I’m saying?

Anyway, when you asked why I had not yet written the eulogy for my mother, I did think it was peculiar, but I also thought that maybe it was peculiar that the thought never even entered my head. Like, my head is too caught up in. the narrow little world it has inhabited to think of much else other than myself and my own survival. and about all of the point B’s I am trying to reach from point A and how I will get there. there are so many choices for how one can move from one point to another, it’s a wonder one can move at all.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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