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In search of Prefection

In the search of perfection, it is often overlooked, that things are already perfect.

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There I Said It.

I Am unable to have children. <sigh> There I said it. I feel better now. Well not really.

It has taken me a long time to come to terms with my fate, destiny…whatever. Perhaps the hardest thing I have ever been asked to accept in my life. I say “accept” because that is exactly what I must do. If I fail to accept it, it will consume me, and I will become bitter and resentful, a person I actively choose not to be.

I can’t begin to put to words to the types of feelings and thoughts a young woman goes through when she finds out. It is a lonely place, and somedays it is impossible. There is no funeral, no outpouring of support, and no one bakes you a lasagna. Though I feel incredibly alone, I know I am not. Doesn’t help. Doesn’t make me want it less.

I have yet to share my feelings about my defective innards with anyone. I don’t like pity, sympathy, and other such ridiculous cliche’ spectacles. I don’t like it when people look at me like I’m broken, or they think because I told them they have to fix me.  I realize I have a problem accepting help and sympathy, I have a problem crying in front of people, and sharing my feelings. I am a work in progress. Whatever my emotional maturity level is, I know I need to let go, to keep moving forward.

I wanted to have children since I was a child myself. In fact when asked how many, my answer was 12. I loved the idea of a big family. I had dreams of rocking and singing my baby to sleep.  Proudly watching my babies eyes light up when he/she took their first step. Taking pictures of beaming little faces on the first day of school. My husband patiently helping them with their math homework. Kissing scrapped knees and hurt feelings. Boisterous family dinners filled with giggles and silly conversations. Nature hikes, family vacations, and soccer games. I dreamed of teaching them about life and love. I dreamed of recreating my fondest childhood memories with them. Building huge couch forts, Helping them through their first heartbreak, prom, graduation, marriage, and grand kids. Having something I can hold up to the world and say “I MADE THIS! and It is AMAZING!” I dreamed of experiencing that magical thing called un-conditional love. All of these things and more, will never come to fruition for me. When I am ready to leave this world, I will not be surrounded by the family I have built, I will most likely be alone.

As much as I try to, plaster a smile on my face there are constant daily reminders, of my unfulfilled aspirations. Although I realize these statements and suggestions are always given with the best intentions, I still need to vent the frustration that I feel behind them. Perhaps there are others out there who may relate, and in no way is this meant to thwart the good intentions of others, it is only my personal take.

” I have this friend who couldn’t get pregnant for X years then all of a sudden she did, so you never know.” For one, I am not your friend and your words offer very little comfort, in fact It seems like a one-up statement. Sharing your friends happy ending  just makes me want to slap the <insert expletive here> out of you.

“Why don’t you see a doctor, or try in vitro, lots of people who couldn’t have babies had success with it.” Right, all those medical treatments and the like are not guaranteed and cost tens of thousands of dollars I don’t have. So thanks, but seriously like I haven’t thought of that?!!

“You could always adopt” Your right I could, Not the same, but thanks, and by the way you have know idea the situation I am in, or how my other half is dealing or not dealing with this. Again I am aware of my options, and honestly I am not at that decision making point yet. I also don’t think I am ready for endless wait, and possible heartbreak when it doesn’t work out.

My real answer to all of these polite suggestions is the same “Yeah Maybe” as I bite my lower lip in order to hold back the frustration, in my voice.

“Do you have any kids? “Your getting old you should pop out some kids soon!” “Do you want kids?” All of these statements, even though they seem harmless are like knives to my empty womb every time I hear them. My general answer is some vague, yet cheery “Not yet”, or “still working on it.” I don’t feel the need to elaborate further, mostly because I don’t want to see your pity face, hear your solutions (see above) or answer your questions. Honestly the more you wish to talk about my barren belly the faster I want to get away from you.

“Bet your glad you don’t have kids”, ” You do not  know how lucky you are.” or any statement to that effect.  You don’t know how lucky you are to have them. Please continue  to tell me about my luck of having my dreams and goals shattered. Please continue to tell me how awesome it is, to be incapable of creating another human. Share with me how lucky I am to never  feel that unconditional love. Yeah Buddy, the gods have blessed me for sure. I usually respond with a small laugh, eye roll combination followed with a sarcastic “yeah”.

Just know that every baby shower I go to, I am reminded of what will never manifest in my life. Every time I see your baby photos on Facebook  I am imagineing a future that doesn’t exist. Just know that when you proudly talk about child’s accomplishments, I will be unable to contribute to the conversation. Please know that I don’t want to be this way, but I am. I am truly happy for you and your genius child, they are incredibly cute. But sometimes, it is just a reminder. It still hurts. I haven’t healed yet. Honestly, there will always be a place in my heart for the child that never was.

It takes a lot not to think about it every time I see a commercial, a family at the zoo, a new children’s movie, or simply walk past the baby section at Target. At first I just ignored it, then I cried about it, I blamed God. I found distractions, the gym, friends, work….whatever I could just to fill the gap. Now I know none of these distractions will help me face this, with every end to a distraction I desprratly seek to find another, only to repeat the messy process, over and over.

Perhaps like any other grieving processes it just takes time. I no longer blame God. I still cry. I am still searching for a new distraction. Right now, I find myself in a hard place. I really don’t know when I will feel ok. My whole life I assumed I was meant to get married and have babies, end. But now I need to find a new purpose. I don’t think I can be happy if I don’t.  Perhaps I can travel the world, climb mountains, and  explore the beauty behind my front door, and my past aspirations. I only need to take that step, leave my self pity behind me and keep moving forward.

Best and Worst

“The best and worst thing about life is that it always changes”

Winter’s icy landscape fades onto spring. The world becomes a layout of sparse green grass and bare trees. Slowly the sun breathes life into their branches, giving way to delicate leaves. Despite how frigid the world has become, despite the sins of the bitter dry winds that assault mother nature, the spring always comes. The earth is always forgiven. Summer eventually rises, and a full lush world emerges, from the past sorrows and transgressions. A plentiful bounty filled with bright skies, and opulent landscapes. The earth rising above sadness, and welcoming us to a world teeming with life. Only to reach its rise to fall, the dying of all things. The glow of the sun, changes the leaves to vibrant reds, oranges and yellows, reminding us their is beauty in change. Once again winter inflicts the world with a bitter breeze, to remind us all that, nothing can stay the same. Desolation will always give way to abundant joy, only to fall into despair yet again…it is all so fragile.   images-7

Thoughts Inside a Tanning Bed

I enter the tanning room……

Whoa! That Tanning bed is Ginormous! Seriously it is like the size of a shipping crate. Please tell me what person is the size of an ocean liner?

Starts to undress….

Dang its cold in here! One would think if people are getting naked up in here, they would turn up the heat.

I Strip down to my birthday suit, and open worlds smallest packet of tanning lotion for $5.

There is no way this is going to cover my whole body! 

I rip open tiny package with my teeth, loose a dollop to the floor.

Seriously?! That was like $2.50?!@!#

I consider using fallen lotion….decide it would only lead to some incurable skin condition, and leave the lonely dollop on the floor. Rub remaining lotion on my skin.

Awesome I smell like a stripper….This must be what they use hehe.

Notices footsteps outside door. 

Did those footsteps just stop outside my door?  what is he doing out there… Oh hell I hope he doesn’t come in.  Did I lock the door? not sure it matters these doors are a little flimsy any way, I am sure if Mr. footstep wanted to get in he would have no trouble. Is he just standing out there?  Why doesn’t he move?

<coughs> <clears throat> in hopes that stranger will know I am in here, get scared and run away. lay down on the cold bed, afraid to press my goose pimpled flesh onto the icy glass.

Must find distraction until this rocket takes off.

Finding good song on i-pod

Did, I really download all of these?

<Skip…Skip…Skip..>

Note to self: create playlist of songs you actually want to hear. I wonder if anyone else gets sick of their music? Why don’t you just pick what song you want to hear so you can stop flipping?

 <Skip…Skip..>

Fine! No more skipping next song is staying on no matter what it is!  Ugh Brittney Spears… <Skip> surly I downloaded that as a joke!?

<Skip…Skip> Tanning bed finally Fires Up 

Whoa! this thing is loud.  teeeheee its like I’m inside a rocket ship. BLAST OFF!! So that’s what the goggles are for! damn its bright in here? Body looks so cool in neon! I wish I could be in neon all the time. That would be weird though. What if I was the only one with a neon body. People would see me and be all like ” Is she from the future?” And of course I would respond. “YES!”

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  Wait……. are all of my body parts getting hit with this thing? I hope there isn’t some crazy skin roll in my back, because then I’ll have some weird stripe, and people will call me  crazy zebra lady.  Maybe I could get a spot on National Geographic channel like that lizard guy? What about my butt crease?  Am I down far enough?    Stop thinking about it, just relax…shhh shh shhhhhh.

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Adjusts back, legs, neck and whole body….

I’m feeling so fly like a cheese stick, like a cheese sick…that cant be what they saying. Cheese sticks  are good and all, but I never equated them with feeling fly. Mental note: look up song lyrics when I get home.

What if the glass I am laying on collapses, and my naked body falls on shards of hot light bulbs, would I die instantly? or would  I have to pull my bloodied body out? I would then become hysterical and run out of the room. I’d be screaming, naked, and running around the hallways frantically searching for help. They’d have to call 911 because I would be burnt, bloody and super dramatic about it. I would make the incident look like a scene from a gore filled horror flick. Wiping handfuls of blood all over the walls…. On second thought, that would be awkward, and maaybeeee… a little too much.  I most likely would pull myself from the wreckage and slide my clothes on over the glass shards, calmly, approach the counter and explain what happened. “Excuse me mam, I believe your tanning bed is broken, as evidenced by my blistering and bloody glass filled body.” She would be all horrified, and I would then demand a refund, at least!  Did something just shift beneath me, did I just hear glass crack? 316260

Turns off music inspects tanning bed. lays back down sighing in relief.

That girl I saw, the other day, looks like she spent so much time on her appearance, I’ll bet she farts glitter. If a person really did fart glitter, would they need to wear some kind of filter type underwear, like cheese cloth or something?  Seriously where would all the glitter go?  It would probably all accumulate in your pants until you took them off, then there would be a huge glitter pile on your bedroom floor. That would be hard to get rid of, you’d have to vacuum the glitter spot for weeks, nay decades and there would still be glitter! Seriously that stuff never goes away!  If I farted glitter I would sport ass-less chaps, that way I wouldn’t have to worry about dealing with mass amounts of glitter in my panties. I could also spread the glitter love, a little puff here, a little puff there, MAGICAL! No robbing banks after eating taco bell though, because it would leave a trail of glitter for the cops to follow….BUSTED!

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Cuz you make me feeeel like……. I’ve beeen locked in a heaaad lock, for too loooonnng.

hehehe Shark Nado! hehehe. That was a terrible movie!  Ill bet they make a sequel. They always make a sequel, wonder if the sequel will be just as bad….or worse?  Maybe it won’t be about sharks but centipedes. I’m Pretty sure if a centipede tornado came I would drop dead from fear! those things are freaky fast, and all the legs…soft bodies…running around on my skin…AHHHHH!

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I jump up and itch my whole body checking the floor and tanning bed for centipedes.

What is wrong with me?!  I must be the weirdest person alive. I’ll probably end up in a nut house at some point in my life. That really wouldn’t be so bad though? I could play bridge with all the other crazies all day long. I’ll bet half of them are not crazy, they are just so brilliant that people think they are crazy. I’ll bet one of them is a time traveler, he’d be interesting to talk to.

Am I burning? feels like I’m burning? its pretty hot in here….. I wonder if tanning beds ever start on fire? That’s silly Shelly you would know if it was on fire, Right?  What if my tanning bed IS on fire? and I can’t feel it because its hot in here, and I don’t notice the flame because it’s so bright? If it did start on fire do you think it would spontaneously combust, and any chance for escape, would be futile? Or would I realize I was burning and have time to remove myself from the tanning bed and roll around on the ground.  Would I STOP-DROP and ROLL? I have seen a few shows on television where people were on fire and I felt the need to scream at the T.V.  They would run around flailing their arms, in a panic, making the fire grow larger. I really feel like the whole STOP DROP and ROLL thing was a big part of passing kindergarten. Maybe when your on fire you lose all your senses and forget?

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Gets up to make sure tanning bed is not on fire, just in case.

I feel like I’ve been in this thing forever. how many minutes left… I wish I could just sleep in these things like normal people do.

Tanning bed shuts off.

The Meat Man.

There are three kinds of people in the world. The ones who immediately answer the door when someone knocks,  the person who asks “who is it?” before answering the the door, and then there is me. I am the person who hears a knock at the door and crawls around on the floor looking out every available window, like a ninja, to find out who it is.

I am not sure where this irrational fear comes from. Perhaps it stems from my extreme dislike of small talk. I really hate plastering myself with pretend smiles and fake friendliness in the face complete strangers, while they spill out the contents of their boring mundane life. It may seem harsh but I never found any personal benefit from these small meaningless interactions. Hence my fear of answering the unexpected banging on my chamber door.

At the time I was living in a studio apartment with my boyfriend, whom for all intents and purposes we shall dub Sam. Sam and I were both in college and had little time for anything other than books and bars, you know the important things. It was a normal quite evening, we were so deep in our respective homework that when it happened, I thought the plaster walls would crumble. A knock at the door. My heart jumped, Sam shuttered with discontent. Millions of unspoken anxieties passed though us, as the knocks became increasingly louder and ominous. KNOCK! KNOCK! Praying it wasn’t some solicitor, or the land lord dropping by for some mind numbing small talk. The banging continued as if the stranger on the other side of the door could see us, as if he knew with each intimidating knock our hearts were welling up with annoyance.

“You should answer the door” I whispered. In my head I figured the best course of action would be to let Sam take the brunt of the offending solicitor, while I try to contort myself in the worlds smallest bathroom to hide from the attack.

“You get it.” Sam slowly answered as if not fully committed to his statement. KNOCK KNOCK!! the deafening sounds of offensive knocks filling our tiny sanctuary with a profound foreboding, escalating to an anxiety ridden crescendo.

“Wait, maybe they will just go away, they will think we are not home or something.” I postulated, hoping I could put up with the excessive knocking until they gave up. “No no no that’s stupid! the T.V. is clearly on, they know we are here.” KNOCK KNOCK… and apparently they are not going to go away. Great.

Sam gently eased me off the futon, and by ease I mean prodded with force .”Just get the door Shelly.” Sam flippantly said as he returned to his books. All the muscles in my body were working against me as I scrapped myself off the futon and nervously headed for the door. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Honestly, one would think a person would be like; maybe they are not home and give up at this point? My arm reached out to grasp the cold brass knob and with a quick turn the door was open.

There he was, the person who had intruded my deep thoughts on organic chemistry, with his thunderous knocking. Standing in the hallway, an old black man. He was slightly taller than myself, which is not saying much seeing as how most pre-pubescent boys are taller than me. His frail frame was adorned in a burgundy polyester suit, the jacket hanging long on his slim figure. The flashy suit was probably the picnicale of high fashion back in it’s hay day, but now it just looked like something found at the local thrift shop for a buck fifty. I smiled at the man, the sweet kind of acknowledgement smile that you would give an older lady at church. He lifted his head full of wiry grey hairs and said the most absurd and shocking words I ever expected to hear out of this slight mans mouth “Do you want some Meat?” There was No hello, No introduction. He just blurted out the phrase as if it was a perfectly normal thing to ask a complete stranger.

I wish I could re-capture my exact inner dialogue at this moment, I am pretty sure it went something like the following: “No.” Instead of listening to the voice of reason, instead of closing the door on this apparent lunatic, I shrugged my shoulders and replied ” Sure I guess.” I know what your thinking, why would someone who is nervous to answer an innocent knock at the door accept meat form a complete stranger? I have spent countless sleepless nights pondering my actions of that day, but to no avail my thoughts elude me and no answer was ever forthcoming.

I gave a quick glance at Sam both of us appalled with my apparent inability to assert myself and say No to the freakish mans request. I twisted back toward the man, and gave him a sheepish smile. He rewarded it with an eerie thin lipped grin, the kind a villain in the movies gives when his underhanded plans to trick the unsuspecting victim are realized. He said nothing, turned on his heal and began to walk across the dimly lit hall, beckoning me to follow with a curled finger pointing to what was sure to be my final moments. I shot Sam a look that could have won me an Oscar if I was cast in a horror movie, and continued down the hall after the man in the blood red polyester suit.

We reached his door and slowly it opened at the softest touch. I gingerly placed each foot on the soft white carpet of this strangers dwelling. His living room was adorned with copious amount of trinkets, brass statues, old records, and porcelain nick-knacks. These must be trophies from his previous victims I thought. Smoke from burning incense wafted about carelessly in the air, filling my lungs with the sweet false stench, surely created to cover up more devious smells. I heard the door gently closing the soft sounds of the locks whispering their song of finality. I followed him into the kitchen area, with a polite nervous smile plastered on my face, secretly glancing around for a window or door that would lead to my freedom, but alas none was to be found. His dark black eyes lifted to my face, as he gestured to the open freezer door. My body shifted to face the horrific mess that was this mans kitchen. The dirt stained door was wide open, and packed full of Meat and ice. The ice was half melted and mixed with bloody juices, dripping onto the dingy linoleum at the rate of a human heart beat. Drip..drip….Drip..drip….Drip..drip. The flesh was lean and cut into deep crimson strips, approximately the length of a human thigh, raw butchered steaks were laying listlessly in their icy coffin. Clearly this was not store brought meat. I inhaled sharply, and held my breath, as if a lack of oxygen would help me. Have you ever wondered what you would do in a life threatening situation? I always imagined I would be all heroic and bad ass, but then you find yourself in one of those situations only to discover you are just a wuss covered in a coating of distorted fortitude. The old mans eyes danced with delight as they grazed my frightened face ” Just take some meat!”

To afraid to deny his request at this time I reached my shaking hand into the cold dark and bloody abyss. My fingers caressed the first piece of un packaged meat, I felt the ice flakes crush beneath my sweaty palms. With a quick jerk I aimed to swipe a few pieces and high tale it out of this nightmare, but that was not to be. The “human steaks” were frozen together and then frozen to the bottom of the freezer. I gave the bloody iced over muscle a gentle tug and giggled nervously at my would be killer. With his hunched back turned to me he reached his spindly fingers into a rickety narrow drawer next to the food crusted stove. This is it Shelly, hit him over the head with a frying pan and get the hell outta there! In one swift motion he pulled out a long shiny object and pointed it to the ceiling looking at it with admiration. incense filled my eyes, trying to focus it dawned on me, this murderous man had a butcher knife in his hands! My skin instantly broke into a cold sweat. RUN, RUN!! my mind was yelling at my now lifeless legs. I tightly closed my eyes and waited for the smooth blade to cut my exposed neck. Like I said, I am apparently a giant cuckold. His wrinkled hands grabbed my clutched fingers as he placed the wooden handle in them. ” Here use this to break the meat free from the ice.” He proposed with a voice as smooth as custard. Relief washed over me. This man is not going to kill me, He honestly just wants to give me meat. I shifted my focus back to the bloody steak freezer and proceeded to chip away blocks of ice and meat.

“That’s good enough for now, you can come back and get the rest once it has thawed out more.” Holding chunks of frozen meat in both hands, I shrugged my shoulders hopping he would pick up on the obvious dilemma of running down the hallway with raw meat in my hands. He passed me some tin foil to wrap the grizzled meat in. (side note: why wouldn’t you wrap it in foil before freezing it?) I took my dubious packages and proceeded to walk to the door thanking the man for the meat. I must of had the strangest look on my face, because honestly that was probably one of the most peculiar encounters of my life.

Sam, breathed a sigh of relief when I walked in the door. “So he just gave you Meat?” He asked expectantly. I regaled the terrifying story, to Sam who was staring with a look of amusement and disbelief on his face. (It still bothers me to this day that he didn’t come with me on this meaty adventure.) After all was said and done one fact still remained: There is no way I am going to eat this meat! I shoved the raw frozen meat at Sam and told him to get rid of it NOW! Awkwardly the meat passed between us and there ensued the dilemma of disposing the meat.

“Where should I put it?”

” I don’t know just get rid of it! “

” Cant we just put it in our garbage?”

” No F-ing way, do I want that in here! “

“We’ll then You find a place to put it!”

” Hell No! I was the one who had to pick axe it out of some weird guys freezer, who could have killed me by the way! “

Sam shuffled walked out the door, with the miscellaneous meat, and disposed of it. Apparently he threw it in the dumpster outside the apartment. I was told that he thoroughly covered it with boxes and other garbage so that it would not be discovered, by the meat man, in hopes to avoid some awkward conversation in the future.

“Why don’t you want my meat, it’s good meat..?” The meat man would say. I would probably stand there starring into space, allowing the blood in my body to boil over with potential explanations, none of which would suffice, before I would just run away, spending the rest of my lease avoiding the man.

Over the course of the next few months this crazy dance played out. The meat man would knock on our door. ” Would you like some more meat?” I would grudgingly follow him to his apartment and proceed to chip away the bloody ice, freeing the meat. I would then return to my abode and Sam would sneakily hide the meat In the dumpster, in order not to offend the man and his meat gift.

Needless to say the whole experience was torturous for me. Strange man, innocuous small talk, bloody meat, and so on. I am sure you can imagine my relief when his freezer was finally empty and all that was left were meat blood ice chips. Except, instead of relief I felt empty, like I would miss the charade. I found myself missing the small talk, the meaningless recounts of our day to day activities.

It was Christmas Eve and it had been a few months since I last saw the meat man. Sam and I were preparing to leave the apartment I order to attend our families Christmas celebrations. When a familiar knock yet again graced our door. Instead my usual crawl around on the floor trying to hide from the visitor I excitedly swung the door open. On the other side stood my new acquaintance, the meat man. In a small voice he asked Sam and I if we would join him for a Christmas cocktail. I smiled brightly and replied “Of course!” We followed down the hallway after the man, and I entered his crowded apartment one more time.

In the middle of his living room a small gold table was delicately placed surrounded by three plush chairs. Upon the opulent table was a bottle of cognac, some melted brie cheese and crackers, and a few Cuban cigars. We sat as he poured us a generous glass of the aged brandy, and lit a cigar.

Throughout the night he regaled us with the most marvelous stories from his past. He told us tales from a time when he used to play jazz with the Thelonious Monk. He shared the story of the love of his life and her passing. He painted verbal pictures of his adventures in New Orleans. My meat man, whom I have shared numerous amounts of small talk with suddenly became the most interesting man in the world. The aged Brandy went down smoothly as we conversed all night, playing old jazz records, losing myself in another persons story. That would be the last I saw of him. I can’t say for certain where he went. I would like to think he is living peacefully, sharing his stories with anyone brave enough to accept them, and his meat.

It is easy to always think about ourselves and the happenings in our life. It is easy to judge someone based on our preconceived ideals of societal norms. It takes time and patience to listen to someone’s stories especially when they don’t pertain to you. It takes compassion and understanding to set aside your judgements and accept someone for who they are. But, If you are lucky enough, to step outside of yourself, if for only a few moments, and give your time and full attention to someone else, you might be surprised how truly freeing and rewarding it can be. I have been blessed to “meat” this amazing man even if it was in an unconventional way, and never again will I be fearful of opening the door, to someone strange.

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Someone Died Today.

Someone died today.

It’s no big deal or anything, lots of people die. I think the thing I wonder about is if they could come back, what would they say what advice would they have for us? I doubt it would be anything profound, Like “OMG!! We are all ONE and we must recycle, and by the way God is a black woman.”  I’d like to think it would be more mundane, such as “did I leave the stove on?” or “I wonder what Karl and Sue are up to tonight?”

I imagine they would not regret the risks they took (unless that’s why they are dead :/) they may have regretted not forming close relationships, with the ones they love.  Or not saying I love you enough to their spouse, kids..ext. I suppose whatever their issues are or were they will still there at the time of death. Are any of them happy, does anyone die and say “well I did my best, and lived my life with no regrets”?  I suspect that some do.

This topic is not new. I am certainly not the first to think of death in this way; however I don’t think it does us any harm either. We should not necessarily think of death, but rather think of life. Many times in our lives thoughts arise. Such as, are happy, did we do the right thing, how we’ve been hurt in the past, and how to plan for the future. I think all these thoughts and decisions can be better made when put in the perspective of death. Not in a gothic death is cool way, but in a practical, does this really matter in the end way. I certainly know when I die the last thing I’m going to think about is the expensive car I owned, or whether my mother in law accepted me. I could go on about the mundane things that ramble throughout my head and cause me undue stress on a daily basis, but really it doesn’t matter.  Maybe reminding ourselves of our impending doom can change the way we think about our worries and thoughts.

When I die I think I’ll be more concerned with questions such as, did I live honorably, did I express my love and affection to those I care for, do they know how much they meant to me? Did I spend too much time keeping up with the latest T.V. dramas and not enough time exploring the world? Did I talk too much and not listen, enough? Did I live my life for myself, or did I give enough to others?  Am I happy with the way I conducted myself whilst alive, can I “die” with it?

When it’s my turn to meet my maker, I don’t want to wish I have lived differently. I met those people, you know the ones, they are demanding and selfish, they care only about their gain. They hurt others without a thought of remorse. They are the line skippers; they are the ones who yell at the 16 year old waitress, because their steak is over cooked. They have a sense of entitlement; they are the people who use the phrase “do you know who I am?” I’ve seen them perish and it is sad, because ultimately they die angry and alone, and the only person holding their hand is a stranger, usually a nurse that believes no one should die alone, even the assholes. Seems to me that it’s no way to live or die for that matter.

I guess to end this random thought, it might be best to use the cliche’ live as if you were dying,  but really do it, as if you were dying, not just like you read the quote somewhere and thought  we should all do this…. But what if we all did do that?  What If everyone in the world lived like they were dying!? Now you are looking at mass hysteria!  And for some reason if people think they are dying, they will steal electronics?! Which always gets me in movies? If I thought the world was ending or it was time for survival mode, I might take food and water, but seriously what are you going do with a TV? It’s like they are dying and think their remaining hours would be best spent watching dancing with the stars?  So maybe we shouldn’t live like we are dying. I guess we should all just Live, learn our lessons on the way, be proud of who we are and what we’ve accomplished, and when making a decision, always make sure you can live or rather, die with yourself.