Life at № 42
I’ve been jumping rope for two weeks now to lose weight. It’s ridiculous- but somehow less ridiculous than jogging or doing any other sort of public exercise. My waist is at 32″ which is a good three inches more than it’s supposed to be. Stupid.
George Michael died so I feel my mortality. Many people die every day in Syria and Guatemala- but they don’t really make me consider mortality because they’re (mostly) so brown-ish. If I continue drinking as I do and perhaps take up a drug, I might match him and die at 53. That means yet another 15 years. Ugh.
I don’t care about my own mortality in any profound way, just Mike’s and the dogs’. If Mike died I’d never forgive him. My entire (cap)ability for niceness has been focused on him (since I was 22), so there’s none of it left for anyone else. Plus I’d have the worst online dating profile of all time: I hate long walks on the beach or anywhere else, and I reserve the right to shush you at any given moment. Don’t go near the Sevres porcelain because it makes me nervous. You’re also not allowed to use my tea cup or juice glass.
I leave you with Segismundo’s monologue from Life is a Dream
“We live, while we see the sun,
Where life and dreams are as one;
And living has taught me this,
Man dreams the life that is his,
Until his living is done.
The king dreams he is king, and he lives
In the deceit of a king,
Commanding and governing;
And all the praise he receives
Is written in wind, and leaves
A little dust on the way
When death ends all with a breath.
Where then is the gain of a throne,
That shall perish and not be known
In the other dream that is death?
Dreams the rich man of riches and fears,
The fears that his riches breed;
The poor man dreams of his need,
And all his sorrows and tears;
Dreams he that prospers with years,
Dreams he that feigns and foregoes,
Dreams he that rails on his foes;
And in all the world, I see,
Man dreams whatever he be,
And his own dream no man knows.
And I too dream and behold,
I dream I am bound with chains,
And I dreamed that these present pains
Were fortunate ways of old.
What is life? a tale that is told;
What is life? a frenzy extreme,
A shadow of things that seem;
And the greatest good is but small,
That all life is a dream to all,
And that dreams themselves are a dream.”