Now that I’m over 50, I’m regularly discouraged by death.
And something else. Back in the day, when Casey & I were first a thing, we spent a lot of time in bed, just talking, like tonight, and we had no television or phones (not even a landline) or devices of any kind, and there weren’t even video stores yet. We just talked and had sex and ordered in and from time to time I’d empty my mind into my journal, like these thoughts about aging and death and the inevitable separation from the ones we love.
This is a depressing line of thinking for a Friday night, and I could blame it on age, but I was having these kind of thoughts at 20, and I always felt better after I wrote them down.
Casey would often ask to read my journal, and from time to time, I’d let him.
Isn’t it funny to think that I’ve let the world inside those pages now. All you people of differing ages & races & connections & levels of interest/disinterest and appreciation/judgement.
I wonder what’s happened. Is it age or technology or the way everything changes, including me.
Casey used to threaten lobotomy.