So I kiss goodbye to every little ounce of pain,

light a cigarette and smoke the world away.

I got out, I got out. I’m alive and I’m here to stay

– Jake Bugg, “Two Fingers”

It’s a Bugg-y kind of day (my eyes are tired so yes, maybe a bit more buggy than usual, and redder) and I’ve wasted away most of the evening listening to music I loved in high school and being sweetsad. Sweetsad is different from regular sad in a way that is kind of like nostalgia, but really it’s more of a nostalgia-pity cocktail than anything. In a weird way, I’m sad that I’m happier than I’ve ever been before. In a weird way, I miss being absolutely miserable because I suspect that I knew more then. The seconds passed slower. My brain came alive, not like this opiate of mild weather and a reasonably involved social life.

Sometimes I lie in bed at night and feel my heart beating furiously, and it just hits–how many more of those do I have? When will I go? Is it tomorrow? Is it on my commute? Is it in the home break-in that I’ve always expected would happen?

If I could at least definitely opt out of death by fire or drowning, I think I might eventually be able to deal with my own mortality. Pff…who am I kidding? I still can’t comprehend it. One day I won’t exist. I just won’t be here. Will it be like returning to the womb? Cozy, warm, and veiled like my eyes after a long night of drinking? Will it be freezing? But I hate the cold!

I keep returning to it more and more.

But it’s not as if things are going badly. Maybe that’s the scariest thing about it–that I may just wake up one day and suddenly I’m 65 and I still have no children. Again, and I’m 80. It’s a silly fear, but I can’t help but fear it.

That’s all I have for today. Maybe tomorrow will be a little less buggy.


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