Thursday, April 16, 2020

A Comma? A Period? How Does This End?

We’re okay. I mean, we’re all alive, sane, without new unrecognized symptoms, and living in familial harmony. But I’m disquieted.

How does this end? What’s my third act? Hermits until a vaccine? How does that look? I could do it. Remember I wanted to be a monk. A contemplative life. A future without sex? Sure I’m 58. But there’s still mileage on these pistons. I may be living a celibate life now. But ...

So. Hermitage for me. I could do it. Do I miss being social? Well, I miss my best buddy and sitting on his farm, drinking brandy, bullshits, and golf. That I miss. I don’t care about bars. I lost interest in all that a long time ago. And frankly, a life in which all activities center around drinking ... remember I switched up to biking and exercise. So the idea of a life spent bloated and hazy minded - I’m happy to avoid that and those.

I'd miss Mass. I can’t see a future without The Church.

But what about my parents' endings? Alone in a hospital bed ... dying with unheld clenched fists. Or at home. 

So, everything opens up. So do I head out into the world and constantly put my parents’ lives on a roulette wheel?

This morning I’m wondering about the period at the end of this sentence.