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I went over my dog’s paperwork tonight and discovered that she is going to be 6 years old this year. I thought she was 2 when I got her. She was actually 4. Mortality kind of sucks. I should get another 8 or so years with her, However, it is 2 years less than I was counting on. I guess it’s time to bump up my quality time with Lola.Lola and I waiting to be attacked

I’m thinking all this may have been brought on by my own mortality. 48 years old today. Definitely on the downward slope of my own personal timeline. The body isn’t what it once was. I have lived longer than I originally planned. Things have not gone the way I would have liked. I’m unemployed and on disability.

I have a wonderful daughter and two beautiful grand kids. I have a delightful dog. A girlfriend who only moderately puts up with my shit. I’m thinking I’ll spend my birthday at the beach with my dog. I do have to take Lola to the vet. That should prove to be awesomely expensive and unpleasant.

Usually birthdays are a happy time for me. This one is blanketed in a haze of suck. I’ll just be glad when this weekend is behind me. With this birthday it feels like the countdown has begun. This is not a good feeling. It is a pretty safe bet that I have lived more years than I have left. I have faced Death several times in the past. I would get angry and defiant; and I always came out on top, flippy Death the finger and telling him to take a flying fuck through a rolling doughnut hole. However, this feels like a sad, slow exit.

It is like Death is sitting back in a recliner just patiently waiting. Every now and then he looks at his watch and just smiles at me while shaking his head sadly. It is as though I have just discovered that you can not out run time. I am tired. Not tired enough to quit. I have plenty of fight left in me. I just wish the fights would space themselves out a little more. I could have another 40 years left in me. Maybe 50, but that is doubtful. Most likely I am officially passed my mid point. If 48 is putting me in the doldrums, I can’t wait to see how magnificently depressed I’ll be when 50 hits.

There is supposed  to be something akin to a party in my honor this weekend. Got into a glorious row with the girlfriend this morning. I may just disappear for the remainder of the weekend. I’m not feeling real festive.

Well, happy birthday to me. Another year done.

O Me! O Life!


Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

What will my verse be?