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Thursday, 4 July 2013
Dying to be nice.
When people are dying, I feel it is important to express emotions. Now I am not an advocate of the emotion expressing therapy psychobabble as a whole. I have vented some of my anger by imagining what I would say to Freud if he was still alive. (Clue: it starts with "Idiot" and deteriorates from there).
Having a "life end date" does give you the chance to say things you've wanted to say to people you don't like and to demand to see people you do. Hence the very private visit of the Fairy Blogmother next week and no, I am not sharing her with anyone so UK peeps will have to wait until March next year to see her. Bad luck.
However, being a nicely dragged up woman, I do find it hard to say No to people and am immensely flattered, although somewhat bemused, when people want to come and see me.
What I don't want is people being not themselves. I want people to laugh and cry and stamp their feet, not look at me with their head on one side and pity in their eyes. I loathe being centre of attention and want to suck my eyeballs out with bitty plungers when I am the centre of attention for the wrong reason. Hey, if I was getting an honour, or hanging out with the Queen, or headlining at Glastonbury, I could manage the attention. Getting the attention because I am dying is very discombobulating and uncomfortable.
I just want to shriek "I'M NOT DEAD YET".
Oh yes and Sigi, be afraid. Be very afraid.....