Interlude

My father passed away when I was very young. It was the worst kept secret. My mother did home hospice so by end it was a frozen person surrounded by the hurly burly of well wishers. The window AC in my parents room, where he died, did not stop for two years until that night. The room had ivory inlay tiles that must have crackled when the chill ended and everything returned to to the tropical stifle. 

I wasn't there but I knew the moment. My mother came into my room and hugged me, rubbing down my back and arms with her hands. All of this was silent, a very intimate pantomime. We have never talked about it.

Since then I have always imagines this is what death must feel like. You are alone and ethereal bony arms pull you down deeper and deeper into and endless maw.  Your body shrinks to a naked pinprick and the arms swirl unto each other and end their labor. None of this is terrifying but instead quite mellow and matter of fact. It's the feeling of being stuck in traffic and realizing you are not going anywhere so might as well lay back. 

I write all this beacuse I have felt myself recently trying to fill a void, that naked pinprick, with something, anything. I'll watch endless reels and online memes sharing them to friends of varying tiers. Even three warehouse intern from two jobs ago. "Isn't this funny...err...Sean? Fuck, I only know your screename." I have so many people I miss and dwell on the opportunities missed to say I appreciate you, I love you, thank you.

I'll have two Xmas beers and I'm spinning on the couch after kids are in bed. My 40 year old metabolism does not play well with self medicating with alcohol. It's hell on my A1C but three drinks and I'll call all those aforementioned people I missed. "Yo, what the fuck up?!"

A friend in Colorado sent a box full of gummies so I'll cut rhe edge with THC and CDB and other alphabet soup solutions. 

I feel incredible, for only ten minutes however, after an energy drink. A white Monster or Oramge Creamsicle Ghost is instant win in a can. I'll sometimes be classy and sip the "healthier" ones like Celsius in the slim cans made to look like something more appropriate on a beach than the office.

It sucks to, get ready for a euphemism here, fantasize anymore. Purely for the brief dopamine that takes the edge off.

Four Ibuprofen, black coffee and a can of fizzy water is the "Do you ever think about dying?" potion. Medicated caffeinated sparkling waters? I am a man limited by means and not my ideas.