Have not so much discovered as confirmed worst suspicion: There is a crap point in one’s life. Namely when you know – and you may deny it till you turn purple – the future is out of reach. Remember that time when it all stretched out ahead of you – everything was possible? You were invincible? Had all the time in the world to follow those butterflies of dreams down the meadow? And then, one day you not so much wake up as shake your head at your folly. I cannot believe it. The only reason I didn’t say ‘I can’t fucking believe it’ because I know some of my readers are of a delicate disposition. And who wants to piss off those who stand by you?
I should have seen it coming. But I never do. Why didn’t I become a fire fighter? That sort of last minute damage limitation seemingly fitting my temperament.
Those of you older to know better please try and tell me something useful, not the well worn. I fight my way through an avalanche of worn cliches every day. And am sick of them. Sick, sick, sick. Those of you younger than me – by a small margin – do not be disheartened. Life is great. And then it’s nearly over. Not that it matters. If there is one comfort about being dead it’s that nothing matters any longer. Trust me. Thrive all you like. It doesn’t matter – in the long run. Mind you if, as I did yesterday, do in your back by doing the most idiotic, the one so stupid I have no sympathy for the likes of me, it makes you evaluate all that’s gone before.
I am in an odd situation. And a little frightened.