So what is it all about?

What is life all about?

What, or who, is important?

I'm told on the one hand, and thoroughly embrace the idea, that being fit and healthy and ambitious and sexy and powerful and athletic and wealthy is a good thing, because in some way it's reflective of self esteem and a positive, life affirming nature.

So why is it that when my sister - an ordinary, loving, kind, caring, giving person - dies, I feel in some way that I'm ashamed of such trivial, materialistic and apparently worthless aspirations?

I have a "wish board" of the things and values I want, or thought I wanted until yesterday. Stuff, goals, travel, cars, and ego satisfying crap that I would part in a heartbeat to have my sister alive and well again.

Why is it that it takes death or misfortune to remind us of what's really important in life?

There have I been wanting some perfect, sexy, somehow super-endowed permanent beauty as my mate, when I virtually completely ignored values lived daily by my own sister.

Fuck it that we have to choose such things in life. Why does it seem that good people lose out in life? Why does it seem that those who care aren't appreciated, whereas the glamorous, the wealthy, the famous or the "beautiful" are valued so much more?

Why should my sister die so young, when all she ever did was care about people?

Why do I have to choose between being giving, and ending up a martyr, and being selfish, and living a ripe old age?

I'm so fucking angry.