Sunday, March 21, 2004

I can't write much here today, because I absolutely have to assert some will and get to work, but I want to write a little, because writing here on Friday made me feel somewhat better.  I did go out and see TV On The Radio, and they put on a good show.  I hadn't realized how upset I'd been over the Madrid bombings until I wrote about it here.  I knew I'd been thinking about it too much, and I was worried about the fact that I'd spent the better part of 30 minutes staring at a picture of a dead lady, but I hadn't tied it to my more generalized bad thoughts and feelings.  For a time this morning, I considered viewing all this as a psychological problem, something that I could rid myself of.  But, then I thought better of that, and considered the issue more carefully (and less selfishly, probably):  this is an ethical dilemma, one brought about by the mere fact of my being human, and there is nothing for it.  A philosopher (Iris Murdoch, if you care) once asserted that we spend more than a little time practicing at death, and that this practice is a necessity.  I suppose one could engage in this practice by looking at pictures of dead humans, or by tending to one's dying cat.  So, I remembered this notion, and I feel marginally better.  I'm just going about the business of being human, it seems, and that business has its rough patches. 1:09:39 PM