Living with the Dead

I read a story recently on Yahoo.Com that says a man called the police to report the "sudden and unexpected" death of his brother.

I tried to find this so I could show you I wasn't just making crap up but I couldn't find the story.

It seems this guy was living with his brother in a mobile home for the last eighteen months (a year and a half!) and only recently realized his brother was dead.

It said they performed tests on the dead brother to determine how long he'd been dead; that makes me shudder to think about.

Now, I know I'm an unobservant sort of person.

I think the new Jaguar looks sort of like a Madza.

Stuff will go in my refrigerator and when it comes out I have to ask myself, "Did it go in as soup?"

But you know, I think if I hadn't seen someone I lived with for, oh let's say six weeks, I think I'd have knocked on the door to see what was up.

Or even evidence of them. When O-matic and I shared an apartment, or when he lived in my house, I would go for days sometimes and not see him. But I knew he was around. His truck would be in a different spot when I left in the morning than it had been the day before. Dishes would be stacked in the dish rack that hadn't been there when I went to bed the night before. The shower would be running when I came home but no one would be there by the time I changed my clothes and made my way back downstairs.

But to live in the same house with someone for 18 months and not realize they are dead!?! What's going on with that.

I guess the next time something slips up on me and I want to chide myself for not being more observant, someone has a baby that I didn't realize was pregnant, someone has a new spouse when I didn't realized they'd gotten rid of the old one, at least I can say, "well at least I'm not living with the dead."

Ciao,
M&Co