Starfish

It isn't really a word. Now they're called sea stars because they're not fish.

There are many words I rather like. Starfish is one of them. Viridian is another. I don't remember when I picked up the habit of attaching myself to particular words. I do remember feeling a remarkable affinity with Gaman's "Delirium" when she talks about the words she likes (along with mango juice and little chocolate people filled with raspberry cream).

I know I started out with a point. At least I had one about 5 minutes ago, then I started writing. Things fall apart.

Last weekend was good even though it was bad. Brett, Kim and my nephew were in town so we went and did a bunch of stuff. Sheldon was in Calgary with his sister. The man who maybe could have been my brother in law someday got shot and killed outside of the neighborhood pub he owned.

How do you speak of a death you don't understand? Dying is shitty (for the selfish bastards you leave behind it is anyway), but murder is worse. This has been a week of coming to terms with my failings. I can't force my mind to grasp the concept of intentional killing much in the same way I can not seem to learn the standard rules of English Grammar (I dropped that course like a hot potato). I keep trying to add logic to something that exists only in the marked absence of reason, and more importantly, of restraint. We may have two words for a small sea dwelling creature, but we have no accurate name for the unfathomable void that exists in some people.