Time will heal all.

To all my beautiful people, I just want you to know that I may be gone for a few days. Or maybe I will inundate this blog with an overflow of words. I don't know yet, but time will tell.

Jason and I separated today. Please don't be too sad for me; I'm the one who initiated it. I know this probably comes as a huge shock to you all, but I assure you this was not a spontaneous decision on my part, and I am going to take some time alone to evaluate the situation and figure out what to do next.

Out of respect for Jason, I will not be posting details here online. But feel free to email me personally, and I would love to chat.

Thank you for your continuous support, and I will be missing you until my return.

Love,

Your little Leslie

Who wants to see drunk pictures of Leslie? Eh?!

Hey, I'm still your innocent Leslie angel. Just imagine that this angel got corrupted by little devils for one night. That's all. Just one night.

Happy 27th Birthday, Jason!

Dearest Jasonface,

Today you turn 27. I know you don't want to celebrate it because you think you're old, and the very fact that I've now published it to the world is probably making you nauseous. However, I don't think you're old, and I doubt that anyone who reads this would think so either. In fact, I think some of them would be insulted that you asked your grandmother if her doctor would give her a "buy one, get one free" deal on her knee replacement so that you could get in on the deal. You're 27, darling. You're hardly withering away.

I also know that you think that, after 21, birthdays are no longer special, but that is, again, untrue. Birthdays are meant to celebrate the day that you, a person like no other, were born. And I can prove it too; that is, that there's no one else like you.

So for your birthday (and because your gift hasn't arrived in the mail yet), here are 27 things that make you, for better or worse, you.

1. Most of your little toes are crooked after being broken one-two-many times on a refridgerator or chair corner, stumbling in the dark.
2. You pluralize words. (i.e., I loves you, You got many hairs, I hurt my feets)
3. You wear 20-30 pairs of pants and one pair of shoes.
4. The difference between your Explorer and your trash can is barely perceptible.
5. You love guns, you love to shoot guns, you love to buy guns, you love to sell guns, and you keep your guns cleaner than you keep your belly button.
6. Speaking of belly button, I always thought the term 'belly lint' was an expression until I met your belly.
7. You are truly an ass, always putting your foot in your mouth, acting too cool for school with all your friends. Which makes it even funnier that...
8. You are incredibly sensitive, prone to spontaneous crying when the moment hits you and...
9. You are a snuggler. In fact, you put the SnuggleSoft bear to shame. You cannot sleep without holding or being held, and you insist on holding hands wherever we go.
10. You think country music is of the devil. (God forgives you for this. I do not.)
11. Sometimes you are so dense, I want to kill you. However, if someone tries to hurt me, you will kill them. I think this is a fair trade.
12. You like to watch The Discovery Channel, The History Channel, and Fraggle Rock.
13. You pluck the hairs on your shoulder, but you grow out the hair on your head and face like a weed.
14. You still don't believe that women poop or fart, despite the many times I have (literally) blown that theory out of the water.
15. You want to name our firstborn son 'Paste'. I do not think this is funny, and I hope you are already collecting funds for his therapy.
16. You hate Chrysler, Motorola, and Dr. Phil.
17. Despite being anti-Canadian, Crown Royal is your favorite liquor.
18. You hate people and rules, so you continue to work at a drive-thru to be able to tell off your customers, beat up your co-workers, and still have a job in the morning.
19. Anything that isn't to your liking is immediately labeled 'hippie' or 'gay', whether that is actually correct or not.
20. You don't believe in open-toed shoes outside of the house.
21. You often sleep with your shoes on.
22. You are NOT turned on by breasts.
    
23. You are so stubborn, even stubborn men say you are stubborn. Fortunately, you are also stubbornly loyal, so even if you piss me off, I am the only woman you will ever piss off. (Lucky me.)
24. You talk like a jester, hug like a prince, and kiss like a king.
25. You are an incredible cook and not one for grace, so rarely will anyone cook something that can't be critiqued by you.
26. You proclaim yourself to be clinically insane and also a topline genius.
27. Finally, you are incapable of loving more than one person at a time. For as long as you love one, she will have you until the day that love dies, if ever. That is why, despite our many differences, we are still together. Because we share this one trait. (That, and our love for food. All the time. Everywhere.)

Happy Birthday, Jason. Loves you.

1, 2, 3...10 shots of Jager!

I don't drink. Okay, I do drink. I drink water, juice, and tea. I don't drink alcohol...much to Jason's chagrin and everyone else's surprise.

Before I was 21, it was purely out of disinterest. After I was 21, it was because my body just couldn't handle it. After 2 sips, my face would swell to a splotchy red, I'd lose all ability to hold my head up, and I'd develop what soon became known as "The Leslie Drunk Face". Not to mention I'd get really bloated. So what fun is that? Who wants to party with a red-faced farter?

So why I took 10 shots of Peach Shnapps and Jagermeister on Saturday night is totally beyond me. (But boy oh boy, was it fun!)

That Saturday afternoon, my mom, me, my housemate Rachel, and my future housemate, Heather, took a little girlie roadtrip down to Louisville, KY to witness the spectacular, 17th annual Thunder Over Louisville event. If you aren't familiar with this event, it is the opening day festival of the Kentucky Derby - an entire day of air stunts capped off with grand pyrotechnic fireworks at night. Basically, a glorified day of rednecks, hillbillies, and free-flowing alcohol! My mother's client, Terri, had bought her a hotel suite and invited her, along with all his friends, to enjoy two rooms of free catered food, desserts, and drinks.

So after us girls went down to the streets to enjoy the festival, bought funnel cake (mmm, funnel cake!), and witnessed a rebel teen get ass-laid down on the concrete and arrested by a cop, we headed back up to the hotel to eat more food and, unbeknownst to me, get plastered.

I'm not sure why I did it. Maybe it was the great company. Maybe it was the pretty little shot glasses. Actually, I think I saw the colored tubes and thought, "Oooo, colored tubes! Whatever comes out of colored tubes can't hurt you, right? Here I go!"

4 shots later, my face was red, my temperature was through the roof, and Cathy, Terri's wife, was grabbing my ass.

6 shots later, I was the entire party's favorite little gal, was wearing the "Leslie's Drunk Face" like it was the only expression I knew, and some random old guy told me he thought my mom was hot and asked to take pictures with me.

8 shots later, I was crawling on the floor, drunk dialed Jason, and told him "I looooooove you" about 5 times.

10 shots later, everyone was calling me "sweetie", Tylenol was my best friend, and people were taking bets on how long it would take until I threw up.

I will have you know that not only did I NOT throw up, but we woke up at 6:30 the next morning, and since my mom lost her license, I drove all of us back home. In one piece.

Sources now tell me that they diluted my drinks to slow me down, but I say, "To hell with that. Even if 10 diluted drinks equal 5 power drinks, that's still a lot!" Your little Asian held her own!

Since Heather took all the pictures, I am waiting for her to burn me a CD so I can show you all the pictures of fireworks, hot girls (that would be me and my friends) and my drunk face. In the mean time, enjoy the following picture that my sister took:

Sometimes I could smack him.

Jason? Are you tired?
"No, I'm playing Battlefield 2 right now."
Glad to know I have your attention.
"Oh now now, you have most of my attention."
Jason?
"Mmm?"
How do you know you want to marry me?
"*sounds of computer game playing in the background*"
Do you ever wish you were with someone else?
"*sounds stop* Every day."
You suck.
"Love you."
What did you say?!
"Love you."
Ugh. Love you too.
"Goodnight"
Uh huh, bye.

Should I Cut My Hair?

Lately every time I look in the mirror, I see the potential for some fun change with my hair. But change is tough, especially when I've had long hair for most of my life. The last time my hair wasn't at my boobs was 4 years ago. Plus, long hair makes slims down my round face.

But still! It's summer, it's hot out, and I'm starting a new job. Maybe it's time for a new look. So what do you think? Here's my hair now (these pics are 5 months old, so my hair is even longer now):


Here's my idea of how to cut my hair, somewhere around my shoulders:

It'd mean 6-7 inches off. So whaddya think? Should I cut it?

24 little hours.

"One day can make your life. One day can ruin your life. All life is is four or five days that change everything."
~ Beverly Donofrio, Riding In Cars With Boys

I've been thinking along those lines all day. I totally believe it, too, that life merely consists of several days that changes your life, and the intervals are just down-time until the next life-altering day. There are days that changed my life - days I'll never forget...

• The day I had my first slow dance. It was summer. I was at camp. We were 11. And I was becoming a young woman with each slow, steady sway.
  
• The night of my first kiss. I was 14. It was on the front step. I ran into the house and checked my lips in the mirror to see if they were still there. With lips burning, I wrote it all down in my diary.
• The night the same boy broke up with me. I weeped for two hours on the phone to my new friend, Christopher, thus sealing a friendship that remains to this day.
• The night I found out that all 6 of the young women I'd shared the gospel with in Panama City Beach on a mission trip...died in a car crash just days later.
  
• The last day of a summer long mission trip in New Jersey. 63 people. Hundreds of friendships formed. Countless tears as we gripped each other. The sight of my best friend weeping into her small hands, asking me between sobs why it was so hard to leave.
• The night my mother found out I'd lost my virginity. Between sobs, she wailed "How could you do this to ME?!" and told me I would have to grovel for forgiveness. Our relationship died that night, and so did a piece of me.
  
• The first time Jason told me he loved me. We'd kissed just a week before and everything was going so fast. I wanted to tell him...but I couldn't...so he turned me to him and reassured me that he was probably thinking the same thing. So I said, "I think I could love you for a long time." And without skipping a beat, he replied, "I love you too." And that's how I found out Jason loved me.
• The day my mother and I forgave each other unexpectedly while doing taxes. She told me she was proud of me. And I left, holding back tears.
• This past Sunday afternoon, laying face-to-face with Jason in bed. I was testing the dialation of his pupils according to the distance between our faces, and without warning he smiled the smile that only I know...the quiet, soft smile that every so often reveals his heart, despite himself...and tears began to run down his cheeks. He pulled me closer, closed his eyes, and said, "I'm a lucky guy." I think I renewed my love for him that day.

Those are the days that come the quickest to memory. So what about you, dear friend? What day, for better or for worse, changed your life?

Little Buffalo, here I come!

Thank you, everyone, for your prayers, well wishes, and encouraging thoughts. And special thanks to Kim for crossing all her body parts on my behalf.

Guess what? I GOT THE JOB!

Okay now I dunnit. I lied. I didn't get it. Yet.

But I aced the interview, they loved what they saw, and the hiring director strongly hinted that I'd be getting a phone call very soon with an offer an tow. So what I SHOULD be saying is...

I *THINK* I GOT THE JOB!

So I am giving myself a preliminary WOO HOO and pat on the back. Oh what the hell, a pat on the ass.

Little Buffalo, here I come!

As of tomorrow, my life might change!

Can you do a favor for me? Pray. Send me good luck energy vibes. Cross your legs, your arms, your eyes, and mess up your hair so that you cross your hairs too. Tomorrow is a big day for me. It's my interview at my dream agency!

Okay, I interviewed with them 5 months ago. And then I never heard from them again. But after stalking them for a while, I found out that they really liked me, and just wanted to see some changes in my portfolio. So many a lost braincell later, they are giving me a second chance. And I really really want this job!

It'd mean stability. It'd mean the beginning of a great career. It'd mean the money I need to pay for bills. It'd mean the money that I need to move out of the place I'm in and into a cozy little apartment with my friends. It'd mean the money to buy a kitten that I will name Little Buffalo. Don't you want me to have a kitten named Little Buffalo? Well don't you?!

So tomorrow morning at 9:30 eastern time, think of me! Happy thoughts, people, happy thoughts!

Boys and girls, it's time for today's story.

Although I can't speak for my sister, Jen, I can pretty well assume that, when it comes to our memories of bedtime stories, the memories have little to do with our parents, and much more to do with each other.

When we were growing up, I used to tell all kinds of bedtime stories. Nighttime would come and Jen would demand that I tell a new story or continue the story from the night before. I would tell all kinds of stories - romantic ones with heroes and damsels in distress, scary ones with murders and monsters made of twinkies, corny ones with people named Mr.Butt who farted all the time, and so on. Jen would sit there in the dark, totally transfixed.

Once in a while, I'd get tired and insist that Jen tell a story. However, her imagination was a little, well...limited. She'd get started and, within a few seconds, get stuck and kill everyone in the story: "Once upon a time, there was a girl. And she fell in love with a boy. But...um...then one day they ate poisonous mushrooms and died. The end." She killed so many characters that way that it soon became an inside joke that no one in her stories would live for more than 3 seconds.

Despite her pension for fictional murder, she managed to write a few stories that at least allowed her characters to get a word in edge-wise. A long time ago she dug up a few of those stories and I cracked up. She is unintentionally hysterical. Here's a story that she wrote when she was 12. Enjoy!

CHICKEN PHOBIA!

Sally and Molly were walking home from school one day. Sally was new in town, and Sally and Molly were getting to be really good friends. As they separated at the corner where Molly turned left and Sally turned right, Sally called out,

"Hey, Molly, ya wanna come over to my house and have dinner tonight? My mom cooks real good."

"Well, yeah, sure, just one thing."

"Yeah?"

"Your mom can't cook chicken.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm afraid of it."

" Well, we're having a surprise for dinner today, but I don't know if it will be chicken because my mom rarely ever cooks chicken."

"Okay then, I'll see you tonight!"

"See ya!"

Later that day, Molly walked to Sally's house for the surprise dinner. She couldn't wait to find out what they were going to eat. Little did Molly know what was she was in for.

Sally and Molly were seated at the dining room table, waiting for the main course.

Suddenly her mom swished in and before them was a big, silver, platter. Since Sally's home was very old fashioned, the father did all the cutting and handing out. And he gave Molly a big piece of chicken!!!

"NO!" she cried out. "It's chicken! I can't stand chicken!"

"Oh, shut up," said the mother. "Children must be seen and not heard."

So the father forced her down to eat the chicken. And she had to.

"Ok, but you'll be sorry."

She took a small piece of chicken and all at once she began shaking and trembling. Than she started getting coppered spots on her. Then she had feathers and huge, beady, black eyes and a sharp beak! And far worse, it was growing 10 times the size of itself every minute!

"Run! Run for your lives!" shouted the father.

But it was too late. Molly the Chicken, which by the way was a giant chicken by now, and Sally, ate up Sally's whole family except Sally.

Sally and Molly the Chicken were never seen again, but it is heard that they were last seen in a chicken shop, getting rid of all the chickens.

The end.

This is why we have a middle finger.

*on the phone, reliving the painful past of my 2-year imprisonment from that horrible doctor*

Me: "[blah blah blah]...oh my goodness, he made me into a freak of nature."
Jason: "Oh honey, that's not true. You were a freak of nature way before you met that doctor."

Let the past be past, right?

Think of the most painful example of injustice in your own life. Just for a moment. Picture it in your head. It could be personal...Your boyfriend leaving you, your parent abandoning you, your girlfriend betraying you, your child hating you. It could be institutional...your co-worker blindsiding you, your boss favoring someone else, your doctor misdiagnosing you, your police department ignoring you. Do you see it?

What if you had the chance to "get back"? What if justice could be served? And even then, would it be worth revisiting painful memories that you worked so hard to put behind you?

I watched my most painful example of injustice on CNN today. Remember me telling you that they asked to interview me on camera and I declined? Well, today the segment aired under the "Eye Opener" section on the Paula Zahn show.

They showed everything...all of it...on national television. The brace I'd wore, the nutritional supplements I was forced to take, the office I visited so many times with my parents, the exercise video I was told to follow every day...all of it. And worst of all, they showed his face - the doctor's face who conned over $40,000 from my parents, stole 2 years of my life, and left me full of holes and regrets. I just sat there, frozen, reliving the horror I'd worked so hard to put behind me.

But you know, when someone hurts you...when someone takes advantage of you...no amount of "revenge" is ever enough, you know? I can't have that time back. I can't get that money back to my parents. Plus, I know something about bitterness and anger. It makes your insides ugly. And I don't want that for myself. Not ever.

So after the segment was over, I sat there quietly and breathed a deep sigh. In and out. In and out. Time to move on, Leslie. Time to move on.

Wow, you guys are as nerdy as I am.

Apparently my little post about the whole "sequential numbered date" thing unleashed the little nerd in ya'll, because several of you responded by correcting the numbers in some fashion. Do you know what that tells me? That (1) you guys have way too much time on your hands and (2) I love you for that and (3) from now on I am going to be much truer to my nerdy self and will be interspersing my coolness with obnoxiously nerdy posts.

So thank you to all you nerds out there, especially...

Kimananda, who said, "except in Europe, where we'll have to wait until May 4th". True that, Kim. I'm sorry, but us Americans are really egocentric and even when say we're thinking about the globe, we're really just thinking about the U.S. and possibly Canada.

Jeremy, who said, " Actually, it will happen nine times before 3006. It won't happen again before 2106." Sigh. Jeremy, you will forever be the most unique, eccentric individual I will ever hope to know. Did you actually count that or did you know automatically? Either way, you scare me.

Jeremy again, who came back to me and added, "Tonight--or to be more accurate--after midnight at 2 minutes and 3 seconds past 1am, the official time and date will be-- 01:02:03, 04/05/06. This numerical sequence will not occur again for approximately 1,000 years...Actually, it will be exactly 100 years before it will occur again, which will be April 5, 21O6." See my last comments.

Ben, who said, " i'm still waiting for eleven past eleven and 11 seconds on november eleventh, 2011 when it will be 11/11/11 11:11:11." You would, Ben, you would.

Rowan, who said, " Still, It only works if you leave off the 20-- part of 2006." You're one of those people who start every other sentence with, "Technically speaking...", aren't you babe? :) It's okay, I have a theory that women who are intentionally difficult are better looking. (Why do you think I'm giving you such a hard time?)

I think Daphne was the only one who responded the way I did, which was, " I think that is pretty cool!" Thank you, Daphne. I think you're pretty cool too, for being as nonchalant about this as I am.

By the way, I DID get a cookie. A big fat, chocolate cookie with big chocolate chips and nuts in it from the Panera Bread bakery. I ate it until I was sick and satisfied. Mmmm...sick and satisfied...

The Sun Come Out, Today!

The sun's out and it's warm, which means it is OFFICIALLY spring. Actually, I'd like to think of it as the official precursor to summer. I walked out this morning wearing longsleeves, a sweatshirt, and a coat. (I know, but I'm afraid of the cold.) I ditched the layers as the day went on, and by the afternoon, I'd rolled up my longsleeves and went cruising outside wearing my too-cool-for-school sunglasses with the window down. Ahhh...

I'd like to thank the special women (and man) who helped pull me through last weekend. You know who you are. Thank you thank you thank you. Here's a free coupon to clean your worst room and bake you cookies. (As long as I get a cookie. Okay, two cookies.)

And now, here are some things that I wanted to tell you before I got preoccupied with the eBay nightmare...

• I turned down an on-camera interview with CNN. Yes, that CNN. (Specifically, the Paula Zahn Show.) And yes, I'm serious. Most of you know that I had/have Scoliosis (among other things), but I don't think I've talked about some of the hell I went through because of it. Well to make a REALLY long story short, my family and I signed up for a very painful, very tedious, very expensive Scoliosis regimen that claimed it could correct my curvature. After two years of throwing my life away for this program, I quit. The man in charge turned out to be a con man and was arrested on 171 counts of insurance fraud. On top of his criminal charges, he also conned a lot of good people out of their money, time, and emotional health.
  Anyway, some producers at CNN were looking for a good story and found the con man's name on the Internet. Through networking, they found MY name. At first the producer interviewed me on the phone, but a week later she asked for an on-camera interview. It was REALLY tough to say no (it's CNN, for Pete's sake), but Jason and my mother both agreed that going on national television as a victim would not be positive for my reputation as a whole. Plus, you never know what bad people the guy could be connected to. So alas, I turned down my 5 seconds of fame.
  
• Remember this story? Well, I do. Way back then, I filed a report against Dr. David Greenfield for denying to see me and treating me SO poorly. The Medical Board probably has to turn away reports all the time, but guess what? Today I got a letter from them, telling me that they will send a letter of investigation to the doc, asking him to explain himself for his behavior. All I have to do is sign a release that will allow them to use my name. Sure, why the hell not? I'm not doing this for revenge, I'm doing this because I believe he's a bad doctor and I don't want him to hurt anyone else.
• Remember this story? Well, I have sad news to report. After that whole fiasco happened, Jeff forgave Alice and Alice promised never to see that guy again. For a while, things seemed normal again. I would see them cuddling on the couch and, while cuddling isn't the same thing as fidelity, well, I just thought...you know. Well, she started cheating again and they are now officially separated and awaiting the right time to get a divorce. It makes me so sad. How can you look into the eyes of your children and do that to them? Jason and I are more concerned for the little girls, who have been flitting back and forth from one grandparents' house to another, sleeping on couches. They're too young to know the difference, but Kahlan, who's 3, is incredibly smart, and it'll be no time and all before she'll start asking questions. For now, everyone's just trying to give them as much stability as possible.

Whew. I could use a good cookie right now. I'll be back...

I know. Who really cares, right?

On Wednesday, at two minutes and three seconds after 1:00
in the morning, the time and date will be 01:02:03 04/05/06.

That won't ever happen again (until the year 3006).

Everyone say "ooooooooooo"...

:D

Just keep swimming...

My most heartfelt thanks to everyone who has kept up with me and prayed for me through this very bizarre weekend. I mean that. You guys helped pull me through.

After yesterday morning’s fiasco, I went home and wrote to you all. Then I IM’d my best friend of 10 years and, within an hour, I was knocking on his door and he was holding me tight. Ah…thank the Lord for good friends.

Chris sat me on his lap and I ranted and raved about my shitty weekend to him and his roommate, Todd. Oy, that felt good.

We ordered pizza (that ranch pizza is good) and watched an MSNBC segment on homeless youth (random, I know). Somewhere in between, Jason and I started a series of emails which ended with a very loud, very long, but very necessary phone call. I’ve never felt so empowered and so passionate in my life. I deserve to be treated well, damn it.

Todd and Chris started to dance, God luv ‘em, and as they are both computer geeks, you can imagine how hard it was not to laugh while Jason was talking on the other end of the line. In the end, we at least broached the subject of his jealousy and fears and I think we both realized that neither of us was willing to give up the other, despite ourselves.

So here I am, still in one piece, and Jason and I are still trekking along. (You’re right, Daph, it’s not like me to give up, so I haven’t, thank you.) Let’s hope that I will be refunded my money. And when I get my THIRD Powerbook (and I will get it, come hell or high water), I will coddle that thing like my next of kin.

If it's not one thing, it's another

After what seemed like endless months of snow, ice, and wind chill, spring is finally here. And yet, going outside is the last thing I want to do. Figures.

Jason and I are on the fritz. I don't know what happened. When the whole eBay thing happened I was obviously pretty upset, and he said some things that really really stung. I don't know if it was just miscommunication or what, but I was SO hurt and distraught by the whole deal that I told him I didn't want to see him this weekend. Which was the truth. Well he emailed me the next morning and apologized for making me upset. Even though he didn't apologize for his behavior, I took it as such, and agreed to see him this morning at church.

I'm not one to stay angry long, so I was ready to smile and move on. But when I got there, he barely looked me in the eye, never touched me, and took out his hurt on the kids that we minister to. That last part especially got me angry, but some people can't separate their feelings, I guess. We had driven separately, but I assumed that we'd go hang out at my place after I ran an errand at the mall. But when we finally stood at the parking lot, he looked at me and pursed his lips like he was about to cry. I gave him an open invitation to come with me as I did my errand, but he excused himself, saying that he wasn't good company when shopping and that he felt sick. With nothing else to say, we simply parted ways.

I'll be honest and say that I secretly hoped that he would be parked in front of my place when I got back, but I knew he wouldn't be there. If I know him right, he's either gone home to take a nap or play video games, or better yet, gone to a bar to drown his sorrows. But I don't know, I was secretly hoping that he'd want me enough to come get me, even if it meant chasing me down, you know? I guess that's just not who he is.

And now I'm eyeing my email out of the corner of my eye, hoping that he'll email me and this will all be a bad dream. But who knows, maybe I'm just wishing that because I'm afraid of change like everyone else in this world. Maybe we really are too different after all, and maybe I should just find someone who's more like me.

I don't know. I feel tired.

Moving on.

I know what you're thinking. What now? I wish I knew. On Monday morning, my mother will fax over all the documents from the eBay transaction, proving that I am who I am and that I did pay the man $1400. And on Monday morning, I will be praying the most selfish prayer of my life: that a grieving father would be able to blink back his tears long enough to refund me my money.

For a whole week, all I wanted was to know what happened to the young man who sold me the laptop. I just wanted an answer. But now that I have it, I feel as unsettled as I did before. It's true that every day is a new day; this morning I woke up feeling much more renewed that I thought I would be. But for the rest of my life, I will never forget this.

Today as I went about living my life out as I do every day, I wondered why this young man's death was affecting me so deeply. More to the point, why am I grieving over a stranger when just two weeks ago I spoke poignantly at my grandfather's memorial service without shedding a tear? Here's my best answer:

I know something about this world. I may be young, but I'm no stranger. This world is painful, it's dark, and full of lies. The only thing that saves us is Jesus, of course, but he chose people to shine His light through. Good people. People who make the worst days brighter. People who make us laugh, who give generously to the poor, who show compassion to those who don't deserve it. The world needs more of those people. You know this. I know this.

That young man was one of those people. I didn't have to be close to him to know that. I'm somewhat of a people person, and I can usually see into the nature of a person's character. I read the guy's profile. We emailed each other. I read his resume. I spoke to his father and his former colleague. This was a good man.

My grandfather was 94 when he died, and only 1 of his 4 children showed up at his memorial service. None of the other attendants even knew my grandfather; they were friends of my parents. This young man was 25 when he died, and over 1,000 people will flock from all over the North England area tomorrow to attend his funeral. Does that tell you something?

"I'm burying my son on Sunday." *sigh* What is that quote by King Theoden in Lord of the Rings II? No parent should ever have to bury their child. Yes, that's it.

Life is short, isn't it.