Tuesday, July 10th, 2012
Getting old makes me nervous because it means waiting for dying.
I already feel like I have an appointment hanging over my head.
I don’t just feel bad about my neck (and my silly putty face and crooked toes —
no one ever writes about that)
I feel bad about death. I like it here. I’ve had a good time.
And what could make you more nervous than knowing
you are going somewhere but won’t know you are there.
It can’t even really be written about.
And, if there is life after death,
don’t you think someone would’ve snuck out data about it?
And after a heart attack and aches and pains that accompany me now
probably forever, I can’t just stash the idea that I’ll die.
It’s just a matter of when.
Makes me nervous.