black, white and red with blood as the slashing continues. Or, how newspapers remind me of death

I can’t help but think constantly of the strangest things. Like what will happen when all the newspapers are gone. How will I feel? I honestly didn’t think that day would ever come. But now, reading the latest news (online-which is adding to the problem, obviously), I see it coming faster than I like to admit. What will that day look like? I’m afraid that day is right around the corner, and it’s not a pretty horizon for those of us whose blood runs thick as ink. (Even now, almost 5 years after leaving the newspaper world, I still smell the ink and feel the vibration of the presses. I miss it. Every single day.)

Which makes me think of death and dying. Weird, yes.

I think about death and dying and worry a lot about how I will handle it the next time someone I know and love passes away. I’m not good at it. Not many people are, of course. When someone is sick or dying, it makes me feel the deepest pain I’ve ever felt. The best way for me to explain it is that it makes my fingers tingle. I always know that I’m experiencing the darkest times when my hands even hurt. I know it sounds odd. But it’s true. The only thing I can figure is that it’s such a raw, real pain that is caused by my heart hurting so bad that it can’t pump blood normally–thus, my hands tingle and hurt. I obviously have no clinical explanation. That’s just what I think.

Watching newspapers die sucks. Makes my hands hurt.


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