Its 4am , and I just can't go off to sleep.

I hate being pushed around. My chief editor comes to me at 11pm, just as I am about to drift into my world of dreams, and asks me to write a couple of obituaries(that's how he puts it !) . Its like being extricated from heaven and asked to dwell in a graveyard. Even an undertaker would creep at the thought.
But then, I like the guy.Terribly hardworking the chap is.Besides with a deadline hanging over his head , like the sword of Damocles , I daren't pick on his already high strung nerves. Or else, who knows, the obituary might just be mine!
So I comply with his orders. I set myself upon writing "a couple of obituaries". I have even never seen any of the two guys, whose achievements I am documenting posthumously. By all means, I had stayed clear of their paths; and I hope that they too would if they don't happen to like my humble efforts.
So for the next two hours I rack my brain . I try to come up with something that atleast sounds whimpering.For that's how we seem to remember the dead: cry over their tombs for a few hours, and then banish them from our thoughts. Some wise chap once said "the dead die only because we forget them". But then why am I speaking all this rot? Maybe the work has got to my head.
And then, for the next 3 hours, I sit orkutting. I catch with up with all my friends: for who knows, tomorrow may never come.
Writing these notes of remembrance has helped me appreciate the love around me. So I make a promise to myself to give each person around me his/her share of affection that he/she deserves. I am gonna try my best to let every single person have whatever he/she expects from me. Cause I wanna make them happy.
For who knows , what if tomorrow never comes.