Finally finished reading Lord of the Flies by William Golding last night. There was a certain dread in turning the pages of that book. I was afraid to find out who dies next. And I was more afraid of how savage little boys can be. It reminded me very much of HG Wells' War of the Worlds. I'm beginning to think that if I had to fight for my survival, I don't think I'd last very long. But they say, people don't know to how far they would go just to live.

A friend of mine once joked that rich people are afraid of death because they have so much to lose. Poor people, on the other hand, are not afraid of death. They even welcome it most of the time. I belong with the latter. Well, at least I'd like to think I belong with the latter. As writer friend would explain: Death is the only thing that is predictable in life.

I know! I know! I talk too much about death. It fascinates me. But that doesn't make me suicidal or a homicidal maniac, does it? Was Edgar Allan Poe suicidal? Was William Golding? Maybe I should check with a psychiatrist. I have a sister-in-law who is a psychiatrist. She told me I had the symptoms of an obsessive-compulsive but they were not clinical or psychological so I will be fine. (Insert Twilight Zone theme here).

Bad news pasted itself permanently in every local newspaper this week. A prominent Chinese businessman in this city was murdered inside his mansion. Killed with him were his wife and 6-year old daughter. They all died of stabbed wounds. They had a security guard, several housemaids and a houseboy but nobody heard them. They had a ten-foot wall separating them from the rest of society and it was suppose to protect them from the bad elements. Was it robbery? Was it murder? Everybody in the household is now character to a who-dunnit movie including the rich man's two sons from his first marriage who discovered the body. Only it was not a movie. It was real.

I'm tired. My back hurts from facing the computer for too long. I wish for a day in the spa. I should go home; but I don't think I have the energy. Wish I lived nearer work.

I got an email from a Robert Redford last night. Too perfect, I said. I think he's looking for a Rachel Weiss and not a Barbara Streisand. Hahaha.

I've learned to keep my blog a secret. It scares away the men I meet. WAHAHAHA! I believe I am not for the faint of heart. The Viking would agree with me on this. :)


shawnazon said...

*hugs* Miss ya, sweets!

Outburst said...

I love that book for a variety of reasons, but mostly because it's a perfect example of what movies can not achieve.
Most people when reading the book, somewhere along the lines forget that they're reading about a bunch of children.
It's not until the very end, when the kids are standing waist-high to the adult on the beach that we realize how small and seemingly innocent these children really are.
A movie could never pull that illusion off.
You make me want to read it all over again.