I drove out into this grey Thursday thinking that death came quickly and mercifully for a friend and that Thursday came quickly and with an attitude for me. Never hoping, never wishing, never wanting, never waiting. Just sitting and looking at that same grey horizon, that same grey sky, that same grey air that I pull into my lungs more slowly each and every day.
What is it that makes a single day different from another and yet leaves it exactly the same as the one before, the one after and every other day that there ever has been? No idea, I realize – I have no idea, and I only know that this grey, grey, foggy grey Thursday is soon going to be a Friday and my friend will still be dead. No different.
The more things change, the more they change. I used to have a teacher - a long, long time ago - who always used to repeat that hackneyed verse, “the more things change, the more they stay the same.” Hogwash. The more things change, the more they change. While every day is in a sense no different than the last, all the things that occupy our life continually change, and they really never stay the same. Even the things that stay the same are bound to have little changes within them. People age. The love between a husband and a wife grows stronger with each passing year. The same menu at the same restaurant has the same dishes day in and day out, and those same dishes are made with the same ingredients. Different raw materials used each day. A different cow slain for each new beef wellington, a different head cut off of a different chicken for each and every new mess of fried chicken you might ever hope to eat.
What am I saying? I am no philosopher – just a guy with a martini and a pen who is looking at grey skies and thinking about a friend who died on Sunday night.