Not for a second. Not for one second does it stop.
We can turn on the television to drown out the noise, replacing it with something inoccuous, idiotic, occasionally beautiful, but drowning the noise doesn't stop the world. The deadlines are still there. I still have to complete & submit the short piece for the comic anthology by the 2nd. I still have to write & draw the new strips. I still have to write the column. I still have to sling the ink & summon the words. It doesn't go away because I'm afraid, or tired, or just fucking sick of plastering on the act.
We can turn on the television, or smoke the boo, or snort the powders, or drink the toxins, but that's not going to slow the weasels down.
When I woke up I checked my voicemail. There was a message from my mother. One of her oldest friends had died on Thursday afternoon. Her body was discovered laying on the hallway floor, by her roommate.
She is one of the only people, outside my family, whom I've known my entire life. She introduced my mother to my father. She was, in that way that friends become, and auxilliary family member. She was an aunt by proxy.
She had completely ruined her life, letting booze & drugs & sex & hate control her. At 47 she finally checked into long-term, residential rehab. She cleaned up, and began pulling it back together.
At 48 she died on her hallway floor.
There's no date set for the funeral, because there's a "backlog" at the coroner's office, so the body can't yet be released.
