Got up this morning, thinking, that death, the inescapable monolith of the unknown, could be but a hair's width away from me. It looms, unpredictably swaying, casting various shadows that lend to misdirected ideas and unhurried dreams.
Today, though, is likely not my day.
However, I think we as human beings, suffer from the idea that we have enough time. That time is actually on our side. That we might make it all count for something before the final curtain closes on that last scene, the audience gripped in awe and anticipation for the climax. But no one sees the bow. We never hear the applause.
We want it all, don't we? The big high-five and the gold medal. The fame. The money. The fucking cheers.
Pushing the covers away, I slide out of bed. My wife is still sleeping, worn out from our baby girl's night calls. As if on cue, I hear her through the baby monitor. On the screen I see she's tossing her head, lightly, side to side, before she succumbs to rest again. Thirteen pounds of beautiful.
I wonder if my wife feels the pains of her years as I do? I wonder if she thinks of life getting better and better? What if we each don't realize our greatest ambitions?
Questions for another time I suppose.
My feet on the floor already, I stand up, and I hear the pops in my knees before I feel them. It's gonna be a wonderful day.
