Flirting

Is thinking or obsessing about death an infidelity of sorts? Naturally my true love is to my life however I often find myself yearning for more information about death, to get closer, to kiss another. It is so risqué, so fun, so forbidden and so uncomfortable that it is almost certainly an affair.

Mostly, I have very structured thoughts about my death. For a project manager like myself, is this not the final project? The ultimate attention to critical path, to early starts and late finishes, to detail, to perfection and to flow. I can't get enough of the way this might go! A friend said recently that my imagination must be just running wild; she is absolutely right. It is in fact a furry of thoughts and shapes and lights and buzzing sounds. Right now, I can only entertain everything, absolutely everything is permitted here. Ahh, meditation, another thing on my list.

I learned that it is no betrayal, there is no affair. I'm just flirting. If I fear death I cannot live. I must do away with the fear, and to do that I must know death. I need to know it to say no to it. I need to get a taste of it to pass it up. I need to digest it to feel sick and purge it. I need to have a brief encounter with it to see my life without me and say no fucking way, thank you very much you fat-assed bastard.

So, I do hang out with death sometimes, Kelly doesn't mind.

I am paralyzed however, when it's the other way around; when death calls the shots and visits me with no warning, no phone call, nothing. When it flashes across my screen, knocks on my conscience and leaves track marks in my heart. If you could put dread in a needle and shoot it up it would fill your body with doom in less than a second. That's what it feels like when death stops by. When death visits me it feels like what it must feel like between the second you're holding on to the Golden Gate Bridge to jump and the second you're not. Pure dread.

Please don't come around here no more. (thank you very much you fat- assed bastard)