damik's Diaryland Diary

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Live fast, die young, and have a beautiful corps

Only the good die young.
A rather depressing notion, if you stop to think about it. I guess, then, I'm not good.
The whole aging thing gets to me anyway. Growing old, I never wanted to do that. It's like a slow unraveling. Everything worth anything in your life just slowly goes away. I could never lose my mind, my faculties. Imagin the indignaty of it. Forgetting who you are. Little by little everything stolen away. If there is some grand design, it's a crappy one. There's an arguement right there for no God. If life wasn't some cosmic accedent, you'd think that as people we could keep ahold of ourselves. Yes, one could clame that this is God's way of testing us, that it's part of the plan, that we have no right to question. What would a devine being hope to find out by causing an aged person to lose her her body, her mind, and her dignaty. Yes, we all wither and die. Everything withers and dies, the flower, the mighty tree, the littlest ant, even my cats one day. I think Robert Fulgham said it best when he pondered why we couldn't go out in a blaze of color. The leaves on the treas turn a vibrent color before they fall to the ground. Why is it our fate to turn gray and fade away?
Only the good die young.
Who came up with that anyhow, I know we can't blame it on Billy, he only perpetuated it.
Does that mean I'm no longer good? Is my father? My Oma and Opa? When is the young that the good die?
Now that I've nit-picked that into a nice little pile, I don't think I like the song anymore.
Go on Virginia, you probably weren't good enough anyway.

11:02 p.m. - 10-10-02
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