Ways you can tell you're in Hella love.

It is five in the morning. I woke up after I had a nightmare.

Said nightmare involved trying to find one of Weds's plush gemas.

I am still freaked out.

I have had the nastiest nightmare I've had in months -- maybe years -- and it's about... well, a small yellow ball with little arms and an upside down face being missing.

This is love.

God I miss her.

Falwell

I can't bring myself to feel any joy in Falwell's death.

He said and did some hateful, twisted things, and I don't feel remorse either, but I don't feel any pleasure. I'm not dancing or indulging in a cold pleasure.

Of the things Falwell did wrong -- and they were legion -- those that came after Falwell are typically worse. I don't mean Fred Phelps -- Phelps has no place in any Christian religion I've ever heard of. He's been actively repudiated by essentially everyone as a spiteful horror, and his 'congregation' is measured in tens, mostly related to him or related to him by marriage.

But in a world where we still have James Dobson in a position of power and influence, Jerry Falwell's death doesn't bring me pleasure. Nor should it. I'll admit, there are people I don't feel badly when they die, and I can take a very dark ironic amusement in the circumstances of some deaths (I still find it amusing that Johnny Hart died over Easter, and accept that makes me a bad person), there's no vindication in this death. A man who was near my father's age died suddenly. Some people hated him, some adored him. And someday, no matter what or if there is an afterlife, we're all going to end up the same way.

I don't celebrate Falwell's life. I honestly don't think he deserves it. But his death doesn't make anything better, and let us not discount the possibility it may make some things worse.

Either way, we move on.