Could I Be a Lamer, More Stereotypical Gothic Artist Type?

I have to admit to it. Last night, as storms blew through the Chicago area, I decided to walk through one of the huge cemeteries on Des Plaines Ave. So here, clad in a black velvet coat, leather pants, and studded boots, and I am walking in a cemetery just after a rainfall. Is this not a fucking tableaux worthy of a Chris Kattan parody? But, I don't know, I just had to get out of the house and it seemed like an idea at the time.

I need to remind myself to take along a real camera - my phone camera just isn't any good in dim light. It was strangely quiet there, despite how close it was to Des Plaines Ave. and Roosevelt Rd. I looked at the names on the grave and one stopped me. Hallinger. That was Michelle's maiden name. I sat down on a bench and cried.

It was good, cleansing.

I picked myself up and got something for dinner, and retired to my bedroom.

There are no coincidences in life, just things that are meant to happen when they happen - even though they can be hard. Life can suck, but the feelings pass. Death is eternal - at that point it is over with, done, and what you did not accomplish will never come to pass. Or maybe not, maybe we do get another chance?

Thursday night, I shared my breakup with Laura with my friend Tracy. Her only words were "You are meant for better things." It was touching.

Indeed, it was the last thing tying me to Oklahoma City other than family. Since returning, my world has blossomed - regardless of daily diversions.

I walked the cemetery wondering what the names meant. Who were they? What did they do?

A fascinating trip.