I hate death

They've put up a new building next to the one I work in. They've been building for a long time now. And it's finally finished, and it smells like paint and new carpet and any number of other noxious-fume-producing things.

They're going to take down the building I work in. By the end of August, the room I'm sitting in won't exist anymore. The walls I've looked at every day will be gone, taken out or filled in.

And today, right now, in preparation, they're killing the tree outside my window. They started sawing about half an hour ago, and then it went down, the branches scraping my window with a last desperate scrabbling as it went by and hit the ground. What was tall and alive and beautiful and green just minutes ago has been violently torn down.

And now, as if that weren't bad enough, they're going at it with the chainsaws, hacking it to bits like homicidal maniacs, putting it through the wood chipper with no honor or ceremony, nothing to acknowledge its years of life, no effort to remember all the summer days it shaded us from scorching sun, all the winter mornings that the shadows of its branches showed dark and beautiful on our walls.

I quite literally cannot bear this. I hate it. I hate everything about the way this is being done. I don't care what you say, I just can't get with this thing, this bullshit thing that everyone says, about how new things can't come unless old things go. I like the old things better. I don't want the new things.

And if you absolutely have to kill something, for godsake, at least honor it first.