I’m now racing against time. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to write. My memory and my ability to order and express my thoughts are already beginning to degrade. I look at some of the shit I’ve written lately and think that my brother Tom would have told me, as kindly as he could, to do myself a favor and take my words offline.
Shit! . . . . ,
So where was I? . . . . . . ,
Oh yeah, I’m dying. But that’s not a surprise. I’ve lived more years than my parents, all three of my brothers, and more than a few of my dear friends. At this writing I’m 78 years old. If you know me you already know this because it’s not unusual for someone whose future is rapidly shrinking to tell you how old they are. Maybe we’re bragging a little. The older we get the more mayhem we’ve seen and maybe we think we deserve a little respect for not accidentally killing ourselves….., or, maybe, it’s simply that the view of our exit becomes increasingly clear as we approach the end of our journey to the mysterious. Or, maybe, it’s just that nothing is more real in our lives than our personal extinction and telling you how old we are is just a little celebration of the fact that we’re not dead yet.
Well,….. anyway,.. the body of flesh and blood that contains and maintains the organ in my skull that receives all of the incoming data from my other bits and pieces that are gathering visual, audio, odor, taste, and touch information, that alpha organ in my skull that organizes all that information into a working database and then spits it out on demand has begun the inevitable process of biodegradation.
So yeah. . . . ,
where was I? . . .,
uh . . .
. . . . . . .