Let's bring it down a notch.

After the untimely death of my friend and, more importantly, Number One Fan, Madeleine Maby, by a series of events that were wholly unconnected from me, I have been thinking a lot about death.  Like how death is sad, and how death is sudden, and how death is so about me. 

I've lost someone close to me, a person who hung on my every word, a person that was content just being near me, a person whose home-shrine to me was Vegas-style impressive.  I feel the need to re-evaluate a few things.

I do not regret sewing myself to Madeleine Maby.  There is no doubt in my mind that the girl worshipped the ground I walked on and I was doing her a huge favor with my surgical brilliance, but the question is, was that the best thing I could have done for me?

Death is a serious thing.  It's really, really permanent.  I will never again hear Madeleine Maby say "Sara, you are a goddess, who's majesty glows with the light of a thousand stars, and if I could spend every waking moment of my life serving you, I would, for you are better than me, and better than all of us.  I love you, but can only love you in the way a dog may love it's master, with the heart of an inferior, a servant, a wrech, I hate myself," as she so often did.  I will never again hear her scream with startlingly zealous delight at my approach.  I will never again be able to hug her...and then ice-knife her (I'll miss that most of all).   But, whenever I visit her grave in the future and read it's words, Sara Montgomery Rocks and Is The Shit, I will remember our time together.

Madeleine thought I was great, and I need other people to think that now.  I must move on.  It isn't right for anyone, especially me, to wallow in misery.  I will pick myself up by my proverbial boot straps, and find others as willing as Madeleine Maby was, more even, to worship and praise me.  Madeleine's death has opened my eyes to the transitory state of life, and  how that short time we have on Earth should be spent giving me massages.  Thank you.