Blah blah blah morose blah blah blah

The thing I hate about all this, at this point, is that it takes on this familiar pattern. Go to the doctor, get some “That doesn’t seem right, I want you to see so-and-so” line, make the appointment to see so-and-so, call my family to tell them about the not-right-ness, come home, the Butcher says something about going on a trip or house sitting for friends and I start to feel like “Oh my god, he’s going to move out and I’m going to have to deal with this shit on my own,” and then I think “Um, does anyone in your family actually leave anyone alone?  Let’s pull it together here, B.” and then it comes, so predictable you could set your watch by it–the sure knowledge that some day I am going to die and that that will be the end of me.

Nothing terrifies me more.

I’m not afraid of being dead.  Being dead will be what it is.  Either you won’t be anything at all, in which case, you won’t be around to notice that you aren’t anything at all, or you will be yourself in some different way, though, being myself, I will probably be a big baby about it for far too long.

I’m terrified of a moment I imagine in which death is imminent and unavoidable and you suddenly know that these are your last moments and that whatever there might be, you can’t get out of experiencing it.

I know describing it, it seems pretty stupid.  Even when I try to remember that terror, I can’t get at it.  Even now, to try to describe it to you, I can just tell you that it’s terror.  But I don’t feel it.

And how stupid is it to feel terror so predictably?

I don’t know.  I guess what I want to say is that the novelty of this crap has worn off, so it would be nice if I didn’t have to do all this same old emotional crap every time, too, you know?

But, on the other hand, it would be interesting to know if all the shit wrong with me had some common cause.

On the third hand, blah I’m even tired of myself.

3 thoughts on “Blah blah blah morose blah blah blah

  1. Anytime I feel something painful and out of the ordinary in my chest, a part of me fears the worst. Whether that is stupid or predictable has never occurred to me. My immediate reaction after getting over the fear is the relief that I am still alive.

    OK, that’s my serious comment. Here’s a (maybe only slightly) funny link response:
    http://www.dieselsweeties.com/archive/2371

  2. “I’m terrified of a moment I imagine in which death is imminent and unavoidable and you suddenly know that these are your last moments and that whatever there might be, you can’t get out of experiencing it.”

    That’s it, exactly. The idea that “this is it”. Well said.

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