I never liked funerals.
All the sadness, the crying, the black clothing that everyone insists on wearing. Blah. Bleak affairs are not for me. But then I’m not a cheery person either.
I imagine that the opposite of a funeral would be a birth or a birthday party. The celebration of life. The chaos, the kids running around, the fake smiles and well wishes. Double blah. I never like birthdays.
I guess I’m just a gray person.
I’m not about the darkness, but not excited by the light. I’m just stuck somewhere in between. That might sound super depressing or pessimistic. I can understand where you’re coming from with that logic. But I know people that think that I’m the definition of optimism and happiness. But that’s only because they are in such a downed state.
I don’t mean to upset anyone with this revelation. I’m not trying guilt anyone, or praise myself. I’m only stating the facts as I see them.
And the facts are gray. Not exciting, but not sad either.
I sit here on the curb, outside my house, staring at the two families across the street.
One family celebrating life.
The other family mourning death.