I am going to die one day.
Sometimes the thought will float like dust particles in a ray of sunshine (note to self -- dust more often). Other times the thought seizes as I stare into the void that is my bedroom (note to self -- stop sleeping alone). More often than not, I'll be perusing the canned goods at my local megasupermart, deciding on whether to buy lentils for 99 cents and make curry, or buy red kidney beans for 79 cents and make chilli, when it clamps down, a cold hand on my neck. DEATH. It pinches, reminding me that the annoying girl at the checkout counter who talks on her cell phone while scanning groceries will cease, as will the 504 King streetcar at rush hour.
I don't know which one I'll regret cursing more when I shake this mortal coil.
The cells in trees, grass, soil, the guy who won't be quiet behind me in the movie theatre because he insists on describing the movie to his friend who is sitting beside him and who is capable of watching the film and grasping some semblance of story, squirrels, water -- I am them. I will return to them as a bird or garter snake or if I am to believe my childhood faith, a spiritual, imperishable body:
Or nothing. I will become nothing.
Life is a stake through my heart these days.
Remember, as the sign says on the map at the mall -- YOU ARE HERE.
(Note to self -- take a walk in the woods).
On a lighter note!
Laughs For Scott Benefit Schizophrenia Society Of Canada
this Wednesday April 11, 8:30pm
334 Queen Street West
With comedy all-stars:
(perhaps even Mark Walker)
In memory of my brother-in-law's brother Scott Way