Both of my parents died, one in my early 20s, one a month or so ago, and the day after each was just beautiful. One in early December, one in late spring, but both deaths were followed by clear sunny skies after days of bad weather.

That was, the first time, the most offensive part of the grieving process for me; my world stopped, the world did not, and I paid my bills the next day because that’s what the world not stopping means. The second time it was actually nice, I’ve had a lot of time between the two to sort out my feelings and beliefs on existence. The world didn’t stop just because mine did, and that’s ok.

This oblate spheroid we call home will continue to turn no matter what we do. Life will almost certainly find a way to overcome the bullshit we are doing, we just wont be here to see it, same as we probably wont be here to see our great grandkids have their own kids.

I just hope we die out or get our shit together before we trigger a runaway greenhouse effect.