On Intimations of Mortality

(THIRD-CLASS Carriage) Oil on canvas painting by Honoré Daumier.

(THIRD-CLASS Carriage) Oil on canvas painting by Honoré Daumier.

The long days are taking their toll.

Only two things can sever me from the world. The first is the life-long melancholy that occasionally manifests as outright winters of the soul. The second is the more recent exhaustion that typically culminates as wholesale abductions of my body-mind.

Right now, I’m here and not here. Right here, I’m now and not now. Fatigue keeps me from finishing my thoughts. So I gestate the same stillborn ideas again and again, with a tedious and frustrating sense of déjà vu.

In moments like these, I think: this is what  being old must feel like, and I shudder. To endure the disintegration of one’s body is one thing; to witness the dissolution of one’s mind is another.

(Yes, the exhaustion is the insidious gap through which the melancholy often slips.)

The long days are definitely taking their toll.

Still: better to have long days than none.


2 thoughts on “On Intimations of Mortality

  1. Dino says:

    The more I think about the world, the more it seems to be just a combination of ironies and moments where ya just go “lol” to handle how absurd some things are.

    Ironic, no? We run ourselves ragged as we try to stay one step ahead of the clock hands.

    As you noted, better than just giving into despair.

    Enjoy what we got now. It is a lot.


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