mnvnjnsn's Diary

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And Time ... is Still Marching On

My physical therapist managed to manipulate my left shoulder into a place where it actually feels normal, and so I've now time to contemplate my own death.

I once had a palm reader tell me that I would, at age 34, stop, look about and say with wonder "How did I get here." That sounds nice, doesn't it? Well, not if you consider that I will be 34 in a couple short months, and I know damn well how I got here. Do I think that means I'm up for a wacky surprise? No. I think it means that I will get lost driving to work one day and end up in Salem, and then I'll die.

The funny thing about my impromptu palm reading was that he stopped going into details 'round about age 34. (Well, no, the other funny thing was that he was not only a palm reader, but also the president of the Concord Republican Caucus or something, but in his spare time temped at Bank of America and read palms.) he made his grand revelation and then sort of got quiet, so I think when I get lost in Salem, I'll stop on some train tracks and then wonder how I got there seconds before the train slams into me.

Ah, pessimism. What would I think about without you?

I'm the youngest in my family. I'm also the sickest. My father, too, was the youngest of three, and he died years before his oldest sibling (and the middle one is still alive). So, if tradition persists, you win, jennibee.

And you live in Seattle and might be gay. I'm just sayin'.

2:40 p.m. - 2003-11-11


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