The last couple days the web has really killed my “high on life, I’m an uncle twice over” attitude.

SharkBoy’s uncle died last week. One solitary call from his mom out of the blue – but apparently he had been ill for some time. I wish we had the time and money to go to the service.

Last weekend, Mixmutt died. He was someone I never met but had followed on Twitter and on Flickr for just under a year. He had an unassuming, no bullshit attitude and anything he posted (some of which are pure NSFW, something I envied of him) I enjoyed. One of his average tweets:

I hate when people make a big deal about babies walking. I walk all day every day and nobody throws me a party. Babies are stupid.

A lot of other people enjoyed him too. Most of my contacts on a lot of social networks seem to have some sort of memorial moment for him. I wish he had known the amount of people who were listening to him before shuffling off this mortal coil. Maybe he did. I feel for his boyfriend who was there for him when he died.

Tomato Transplants, one of the best bloggers I know (digitally) wrote about his wife’s miscarriage yet was able to put a positive spin on it. Again, I feel for his loss yet admire his perseverance.

Yesterday I scanned my blogroll feeds and came across StudioYVR’s post of the end credits of Six Feet Under, featuring the music of Sia (creepily, SharkBoy had posted one of her songs a couple days earlier too). SYVR’s post is a dandy, In-Your-Cubicle-Weeping kind of music video, thank you very much.

Needless to say these events have dropped me in a funk. Subsequently I’ve been thinking a lot about death and how I will end. Ideally I’d like to go in my sleep. Most likely I will die in a freak accident where my cats will be forced to eat me. I hope they go for the kidneys first.

Last night I think I came out on the other side of this black cloud. This morning I had a dream that I was in a square in some European village with SharkBoy. Typical old buildings surrounding a fountain and cafes and pigeons sort of thing. I take his hand and we jump into the air and effortlessly fly circles around the square. We spy a hole in the side of one building, some 30 or so stories up, and fly to it’s ledge. It’s a funky artist style cafe for other people who can fly. We’re greeted warmly and served tart lemonade. I smile at SharkBoy. And woefully wake up from such a fun dream.

This all said, I remind myself (and you too dear readers) that it’s not how you go, it’s how you got to the going.