Nobody wants to think about losses. Losing is the best when it’s suppressed. And coping with a loss can be done in few different ways. You can work and try to work over it or you can drink and blab it all out to the bartender. Sincerely, it isn’t important at all what will you do. You will always end up with one of these two things. I’m not talking here about some adolescent loss. Girlfriend or a dog or something like that. I’m talking about dying, when the coffin is in the ground and the funeral is over you are left alone with your thoughts and then coping begins. The reason for this text is an anniversary. Soon it will be a year that my father died. We were close, of course and writing that on paper is sometimes the easiest form of therapy.
Losses. Sometimes you feel like every word wants pity or understanding. But trust me when I say nobody wants pity and understanding is deficient these days as it is. No, the reason for writing is almost always the same. Coming to terms with one self. Almost always.
Today, most of the losses the people are talking about are the ones above. Profit/Loss. And they usually ends like this:
So, in all this darkness how is one to cope with the losses? Doesn’t matter which kind. Frankly, it’s absolutely irrelevant. Start to drink? Work until he’s worked out a heart attack? Yesterday I was listening to a university professor who said that even if the all teachers resigned their posts today, and all those without work were taken to their positions there will still be 50% of the people unemployed. Losses? Maybe, but whose exactly? Time is one thing that will never come back. Time passes and chances pass. People are passing on ambitions and talking about everything except themselves. Economy is shit, country is shit, religion is shit. So much shit in words that the words themselves have the smell of pity. Forgive me on my language, I’m just tired of all that shit.
I wanna drink and I wanna work. How is that? Truce between the two. Cocktail with olives to celebrate.
And for the losses i couldn’t care less. As for my dad, well I’m the living proof he was in a profit column.
This is for you old man, cheers. And thanks for learning me never to pity myself.