This was written the day before yesterday, just for reference.
1. I almost committed manslaughter, or something. I was negligent as hell.
Today, my brother could've killed or injured himself or someone else, and it would've been entirely my fault. I was watching Doctor Who with him in the living room during "nap time," and he wandered off. I assumed he was either watching videos with my sisters in the parlor or playing with my brothers upstairs. He wasn't; he'd gone outside, gotten into the locked shed, retrieved his gun, and gone down to the creek (it's generous calling it that- we're in a rather suburban area). He's eight. Maybe nine. I'm not entirely sure.
Of course, I didn't know that, or I'd have pitched a fit and dragged his ass inside. No, I sat on my lazy ass watching Doctor Who (mreow, David Tennant) instead of thinking to confirm his location.
Needless to say, when my mother got home and couldn't find him, I freaked. Five minutes into our realization that he was missing, he wandered up onto the patio wearing no pants or underwear, his shirt pulled down to cover his pre-pubescent junk.
"What happened to your pants?" Mother asked.
He replied, "I pood in them."
[I am reminded of the scene from Lo when Jeez says, "You look like a small child who just proudly shat his pants."]
We thought that was the end of that. But no.
Later, it became known that my step-dad's keys were missing. We searched and searched, and we found them under the van- if my Mother had gone off with the van instead of wanting to use my step-dad's Mustang (for which I don't blame her), those keys would've been gone.
I'm not sure of the details, but they found the gun- down by the creek, or under the van, or inside the shed amongst broken shit, or something- and put the pieces of the puzzle together. They asked my brother about it and he broke down, sobbing about how nobody loved him.
I almost hyperventilated on the couch when I realized that I could've been the indirect cause of a death or serious injury at the hands of my little brother. That fucker doesn't know how to use a gun properly; I don't know why the hell he has one, even if he's only supposed to use it under adult supervision.
2. I was reminded of my friend who killed herself in May.
My friend Mindy was a beautiful person. She was very reminiscent of Buttercup, if you remember the Powerpuff Girls. She was Asian. She cheated off of me in AP US History. She had a girlfriend.
I don't want to write about the details, but she killed herself in May. It was horrible. I didn't go to the funeral, but there was no escaping the truth. No denial. She's missed dearly, and I don't believe in a heaven, but if I did, I'd take solace in the fact that she could see how much we love her.
All this Chik-Fil-A bullshit is bringing forth a lot of posts by/about gays and lesbians on sites I frequent (read: reddit, reddit, and reddit). I know it sounds shallow, but every time I see something with a little Asian girl or a lesbian (or, goodness forbid, both, my poor heart), I think of Mindy immediately. I think of her on other occasions, too, but this has been particularly relevant lately.
I cried today.
3. No matter what, there's an entire universe to be explored.
But no matter what accidents I cause here or what grief I experience, there's a whole universe- maybe several, but that's getting ahead of the game a bit- waiting to be explored. I've lost someone dear to me, and it hurts like hell, but I have Mars to look forward to, for starters.
This knowledge doesn't make me miss Mindy any less. I'm not expecting to find her. I know that won't happen, and I know that space exploration wouldn't fill the void she left behind.
It's just that every time I get sad, I think of what's out there. What's waiting for me. For us.