How Long Would It Be?
Warning folks, this post is a little morbid. My wife, an occasional reader of the Evening Standard, noticed an unattributed article about the late Casey Johnson. I’ve never heard of her before. Apparently that says a lot about me. If you think it does say a lot about me then you read gossip magazines and/or blogs and or sites and hold socialites in high and, perhaps, envious regard. I pass no judgement. I, almost thirty, play miniature war games. Each to their own folly. Alternatively, you may be interested in or knowledgeable of the very wealthy; putting you in banking or investment circles, if that’s how you know about the Johnson heiress then the thing about playing with model army men was a joke and I have a CV handy somewhere around here.
Casey Johnson, herself thirty when she died, lay for what appears to be at least three days, unmissed. I’m not sure this says a great deal in favour of her fiance, a person I shall avoid naming or referring to ever again. Casey Johnson didn’t answer her phone and she stopped twittering. But no one called by. No one else was inside her home for one reason or another until an unfortunate maid dicovered her body in a bedroom. On a side note here, two members of my family have been or are police officers. Both of them have discovered bodies in varying degrees of death. Both report that it is a deeply unpleasant experience. Both insist that death, once properly encountered, is not forgotten. Because of them I appreciate my naieveté. In short, I feel for that maid. I presume of course that she is not in the habit, so to speak.
Many, some themselves socialites or famous, have expressed their electronic condolences to Miss Johnson and her family. I have something of an issue with electronic condolences. You see, electronic sentiments mean very little, save those which are hand delivered. Hand delivery is also meaningless (we call it the post, unless the hand is itself known. Empathy for loss doesn’t come cheap. You certainly can’t register for it. I’m not sure empathy works en masse either. Quite unlike advertising, which works best en masse. I’ll let you decide which this is. To be crystal clear about this, I don’t think these individuals are expressing faith in life after death when they tell a person they are missed, I think they are taking advanage of an aquaintance even when they are dead.
Told you it was morbid. Reading the article led me to the obvious question. My answer? If it happened right now, then I would guess a couple of hours. My wife likes to check on me when I stay up to use the computer, it’s a practice of hers I encourage. I suppose there are times when I might go unnoticed for a while. The more I think about it, I think that considering it carefully would encourage anyone to be a better person. I don’t mean idealogically, I mean selfishly. The ultimate selfishness in this sense would be to serve others wholeheartedly and without reservation, then you would be missed. Think about it.
How long would it be?
Word of the day: Denouement
-noun
1 – the final resolution of the intricacies of a plot, as of a drama or novel.
2 – the place in the plot at which this occurs.
3 – the outcome or resolution of a doubtful series of occurrences.
