Centum
Today is the first day of the rest of my life, I look up and hope to live a long, full life but there’s evidence that I’m already getting worn, tattered and threadbare, and I’m not even forty yet.
I walk to my car and realize that I will never go to a gym again. I won’t do much of anything anymore other than walk toward death, slowly, painfully, achingly. I see the trees, how they’ve grown since last fall and I realize I don’t pay attention enough to the things around me, I don’t see the details.
I’m a “big picture” person, which is probably why I see my whole life unfolded before me like a Mexican blanket I bought from some kid in Cancun for $2. Those blankets! They last forever! I want to live my life like that blanket, live for a billion years, even though I know that’s not possible.
Will life be worth living when I come apart? When my bones crack and break, when my titties sag like sad sacks? Will I really be wiser, or will I be the same cynical smart-ass I am now, spewing outdated jokes that no one gets anymore? Will I be the sad, old, lonely lady with twenty cats that shit everywhere except the litter box? Will I be a grandma or a genetic dead end? I don’t know what life has in store, but I’m already starting to fold myself up like the party is over.
I’m heading in to bed where I can rest and watch news on television, just because I don’t like the intrusiveness of the internet. I plan to reject everything new, just because I can. I’ll cling to my old beliefs, counting the years of my life from one to ninety-nine. Then I will wait for that magical birthday, the one that no one ever thinks they’ll live long enough to see.
I’ll insist on covering my cake with so many candles so I can make enough wishes to give the things I wanted for myself to the people I love now. I’ll give all my possessions away as I realize I can’t use them where I’m going, that all I’ve collected is basically junk, even the unicorn necklace my father gave me when I was five. I’ll find people to hold the pieces of me that are left, every possession a new gift.
by CmeSparkle, all rights reserved.















