Well, one of my presentations is over! I didn't do so well, but either the teacher didn't know it, or I seriously underestimate myself. Neither is too plausible, but it so happens that I got a full score anyway!

Another presentation on Monday, and I hardly care. The reason? I AM GOING TO THE U2 CONCERT IN SLC!!! YES! Those of you who aren't aware, when U2 came to Phoenix a few short months ago and I didn't have tickets, I nearly cried myself to sleep.

My brief obsession with U2 (it came about because of a guy I liked and a brilliant paper I wrote, titled "Even Better Than The Real Thing: U2's Exploration Of Postmodernism") has since blossomed into understanding the sheer genius of U2's music and Bono's beauty. Needless to say, I cannot go to my grave never having seen U2 in concert.

Actually, that is untrue. The tragedy of last week has cast a shadow upon my life that has hovered near me like a close friend. When 'YR' called me to tell me that U2 was doing an extra concert in SLC and that she was getting tickets, I nearly died. Of course I would go!

But then guilt set in. Is having fun really appropriate at a time like this? Perhaps I should spend my time and money doing more important things. After all, I could use the money for the relief efforts. And remembering I could die any minute (there are no guarantees) has forced me to take a look at my life and what I am doing. Shouldn't I focus on the important things? A U2 concert is very low on my list of truly essential things to do before I die. Most of the things on my list deal with my family, my friends, my relationship with God, voting in an election at least once in my lifetime (yes, I am one of those pathetic politically passive persons). Tears and newfound fear is not the only result of last week. I find that I question my motives and goals all the time now.

I realize that buying stuff is good for the economy, and that the people who died would want the rest of us to get the most out of the life we have. But it doesn't stop me from getting teary-eyed every time I think of any of the people who died. It wasn't me. I didn't die. Why do I get to live when so many are gone? War is hanging menacingly over the door into tomorrow, but I'm worried about getting a good seat for the U2 concert? At what point do we go back to normal? At what point do the tears cease to embarrass me at the awkward times when they come?

I meant this entry to be a fun rolick through the many obsessions of lifeblood, but as usual, I turn it into something introspective and serious. My sorrow over the tragedy continues to haunt me and make me wonder if the wounds will ever fully go away. And makes me wonder how I dare mention my wounds at all, as there are countless people who actually knew and loved someone who is now gone.

HK

 

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