I had to look something up in my old diaries – when I previously went on a particular course, turns out it was eight years ago.

I didn’t like the experience of having a pile of old diaries in my hand and thinking, for every one of the days here, he was alive (well that’s the good and comforting bit) but didn’t know he was soon going to die (that’s the nasty bit).

I particularly didn’t want to look up the day he died in previous years, but I couldn’t help glancing at a couple.  I was sort of afraid it would be something nice and significant that happened, which would then have an awful tinge put on it, to think that at the time we didn’t know that x years later, he would die on that day.  For the two years I looked at, it (22 January) was an insignificant day, nothing particular noted down.  But I’m still thinking – that day passed and I didn’t know it was the day that…

So I’m holding those diaries and thinking – one of these days, these dates, will be the date that I die.  And maybe someone (but probably nobody) will be looking through these diaries and saying, oh how poignant, she ended up dying on the day that such and such happened.

I expressed this sentiment to someone and was told it was unhealthy thinking.  Quite true, clearly.  Everyone on the planet lives through the date they’re eventually going to die on – but you don’t know which it is and there’s nothing you can do about it.  You have to forget about it and just live.

I’ve always thought my over-profoundness is an affliction.  Seems it’s at its worst now.

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