Dying With the Worst Toys
So yay, the doctor told Me that I was going to die. But you already knew that, and so did I.
Actually I knew that (and really so did you) before the doctor even said a word. I’ve been on the path toward death since I was born. I, and literally everybody else, am born to die. (Mythical Jewish/Egyptian/Babylonian/Amerindian/Mesopotamian folk tales notwithstanding.)
(I just found out that “Born to Die” is apparently a song by some female singer I’ve never heard of, Lana Del Rey. Or maybe it’s not a song but just the name of an album. I don’t listen to contemporary music much, so I’m lost here.)
At any rate, I’ve become painfully aware in the last several months of My impending departure from this mortal coil. It’s really hard to make new friends, particularly romantic partners, because once they find out that HEY, I’ll be dead in a few years probably, they quickly move on to greener pastures.
Or at least pastures that aren’t getting paved over for a new parking lot really soon.
Maybe it’s a mistake to tell people that but I think it’s kind of important for them to know. You know? I want them to make an informed decision and if they were to start thinking (unlike literally anyone else that I’ve ever met) about long-term plans and growing old together and marriage and stuff, springing the whole “DYING” slinky on them just wouldn’t be cricket.
Dying alone seems to be at the top of My “TO DO” list. I’m not particularly pleased about that probability, but at least I’ll still have My mental faculties. They’ll never stop being awesome.
Oh wait … yes they will.
I can already feel it happening. It’s not really that noticeable to most other people because I’m just acting and thinking like other people usually act and think. That’s not how I usually act and think though, and I can tell the difference. I can almost feel the little electrical impulses in My brain misfiring, I hear the thinking engine between My ears trying to turn over. Somebody asks Me a question and I know what letter the answer starts with but that’s all I got, folks
Horror stories abound about people who have the same disease I have. Eventually they start forgetting how to pay bills, they start forgetting people’s names, they put baking soda in the sugar bowl. I’ve already started forgetting where I am from time to time. I have horrible mood swings. I have trouble sticking to a budget. I have trouble concentrating on things. You may be saying to yourself that yeah, that happens to you all the time. Well this is new to Me. I don’t fucking like it. How does anybody ever get anything done if this is how y’all are all the time?
Somebody once characterized capitalism as “whoever dies with the most toys wins.” Well I don’t have a lot of toys, I’m on disability and can’t afford to do much of anything for Myself since people still want to “borrow” money from Me because for some reason I have more money than they can figure out a fucking budget for. I do have philosophical differences with theists and I am quite aware of all of the crap that they do to hurt people, but I do have to acknowledge that on a couple of occasions when I was faced with some really overwhelming circumstances, it’s always been churches and associated charities that I could turn to. (Or My mother once in a while.)
My “toys” I guess are My problems, My physical and mental illnesses, My struggles with other people and Myself, My never-ending quest to cut through the red tape that binds. I have a lot of those kinds of toys. I don’t have the most toys, though, and I certainly don’t have the worst toys.
Suffering is not a game you want to win.
Some people seem to treat suffering like a contest, though. Once in a while I’ll get into doing that too, trying to be the one who suffers the most or has it worse than the other person. Because if I don’t have it worse than anybody else then what “right” do I have to complain about My lot in life? I feel like a whiny little cry-baby just for even mentioning the fact that I get depressed sometimes (not as depressed as you, of course) or have to take a lot of meds (not as many or as costly as yours, of course) or have had some rough experiences in My life (not as bad as what you’re been through, of course) or think about killing Myself sometimes (not as often or as seriously as you, of course) … so yeah, your life sucks and Mine is just fucking great in comparison. Is that what you want Me to say? Great then, that’s what I’ll say from now on. I’m a ‘10’ in every good category (like mood), a ‘0’ in all the bad ones (like pain).
So if he who dies with the worst toys wins … then fuck it. Like the WOPR figured out, the only way to win is not to play.
