I belatedly joined the whole Twitter "thing" just in time for a massive Twitter boycott! I won't participate in the boycott but find my timing funny anyway. (You can follow me on Twitter as well, by the way: @ErikaWolfeel)
Today is one of those days where little things (industrial-size bottles of Swedish ketchup, Swedish cheddar, tea!) remind you of events and people, and it all makes you sad and question how it all went so wrong. Or make you think of things that never came to be but set new thresholds for heartbreak. Most of life's most painful moments are private.
I did not need more ammunition for this sadness to grow, so what did I do? I first watched a movie called A Better Life, about an illegal immigrant in the US. Quite a depressing tale even if it took a long time to get around the fact that the protagonist was played by Demián Bichir. For me, Bichir is and always will be Esteban, Nancy's Mexican druglord husband in the increasingly miserable Weeds. (That is not to say that Bichir's performance was not good in A Better Life.)
Then, I took the auto-grief-machine to a new level. I watched a documentary called How to Die in Oregon, which chronicles several individuals' choice to use the Oregon state "death with dignity" law (and touches on the fight to legalize assisted suicide in Washington state as well). Not a clever choice for me today.