Endings

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We look at the sunset everyday, thinking, “Well, is this all there is?”  Or, “That was great !  Can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.”  Or any one of a hundred musings along those lines.

Having made it safely back from my overseas jaunt, I am happy to report that I stayed well, despite being tired.  I am healthy, despite my body’s continued betrayal.

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Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a tired man trapped in this woman’s body.   John Coffey / Stephen King absolutely called my state of mind may years ago, way back in 1984, when I made plans to escape my parochial life and journey to this foreign land of California in the hopes that things would be better.

What I found instead was something I’ve always known.  No matter where you go, you can’t outrun yourself.  Ideas that had me branded as wild in Boston are still the same ideas that have me branded as boring in California.  No matter where you go, the truth will out and you are who you are.  It’s just that simple and that pragmatic.

So, as I contemplate my so called, “golden years”, I can’t help but note that it’s an ending that is taking way too long to arrive.

I’ve done my best to remain busy and out of mischief, but being busy without a purpose is just as tiring as having a purpose.  And, remaining within my budget is very hard, but especially when I am bored and looking to keep busy and out of trouble.

Today’s introspection is courtesy of an Auntie who appears to be trying to do herself in.  Again.  Plus a neighbor whose wife has Alzheimers, and who slipped his supervision and ended up in a care home 3 months or so back.

So many people unhappy with their lives, yet either trying to leave it too soon, or keep it functional long past all reasoning for quality of life.

While I was traveling I was exhausted.  Daily.  But I managed to get up and get moving every day (some days better and more on top of things than other days).  There was no question about my health, or “Is this the big one?” for a health scare in the night.

Instead, everything was on hold for an indefinite period of time while I explored other lives and other realities.  I was alive, and living, vs. trying to find a purpose to get my butt in gear and get on with the business of living.  Every day.  Day after day.

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It was a time away from my life, and I loved it.  And, while I have yet to get my income (matching salary benefit from the insurance company) due in the month of June, I’ve continued to spend money and buy plants and do what I can to stay engaged in life, despite the aggravation that being alive and continuing to fight the good fight brings each day.  Each day I’m short of money and worried about bills and managing priorities.

As the old song says, 🎶 If that’s all there is my friend, then let’s keep dancing.  Let’s look at the moon and have a ball… 🎶

Every life must have it’s ending.  And, my being aware for most of my 57 years that life is finite, and my life more than others, it just leaves me naval gazing and wishing I could be off dancing some more.

I’ve put down money on a trip to Portland and Vancouver, BC, in the Fall.  Having faith that my money will keep on coming and that I’ll need stuff to do to keep busy if my health remains stable.

I’ve also put money down on a cruise in the Spring, hoping against hope that my Sis will snap out of her mad and find a way to make the family trip for a cousin’s 10 year anniversary next March.

So many different things I’m doing, while also wondering when my ending will hurry up and get here.

I was stuck for an answer earlier today (twice!) when the neighbor who has had to put his wife in a home challenged me on my health and why I wasn’t “healing” my lungs through stem cell treatments.  It was hard not to say, “Look, you just put your wife in a home and are preparing to sell everything to pay for her care while you both fight to keep being able to afford to live.”   Instead, I just had to answer politely that I’m not made of money and that stem cells aren’t the answer.  Yet.  And maybe not ever, if one has to keep on dealing with the pain of the treatment and affording the treatments every six months or so.

Having harvested the tomatoes and bringing them over to a friend to enjoy, I had to stop from snapping at a know-it-all 25 year old who demanded to know “how” I knew I was allergic to fruits and vegetables.  (It was all I could do to not grab her by the throat and shove her face in the panties I’d crapped in on Friday, being unable to make it home in time to avoid the heading-for-the-nearest-exit food drama my body insists is now its standard).

Having eaten some roast beef that uncooked lettuce touched, and which minute amount of lettuce I didn’t find in my sandwich until more than half way through it, you can trust me to know that my body’s reaction to fruits and vegetables is worsening, and that I “know” my allergic reactions. Nobody wants to live long enough to have to clean up their own crap.  Anyone with sense will avoid anything even remotely likely to provoke an undesirable reaction, never mind one so extreme.

So, I’m sure I had a point to this blog when I started it.  For now, let’s just wrap it up with the knowledge that old age isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, and that I’m ready to go when the time comes.  Endings.  They make way for new beginnings.  At least, in my world.

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