There is no great revelation that came with it, no hopping out of bed and taking on the world like a hurricane, no great novel being written (very possibly a mediocre screenplay or three), no real anything other than the follow up thought of, hmm, I would have to live to be at least 85 to still, technically, be closer to my beginning than my end. Fuck that.
My gramma is 80something. I have a stack of life insurance paperwork on my desk.
|I used a filter. That means I'm artistic as fuck.|
If there is a god, he is a sonofabitch.
Gramma also drives people away and then wonders why no one loves her. I've told her why, but she doesn't listen. She's a miserable cunt if ever there was such a thing. She's lived with me just to drain my bank account and suck the life out of me. I've paused my life to care for her while she battled cancer. For each of those my thank you was her vitriol which she would later profess to having forgotten entirely. Fuck her.
The life insurance policy on my desk, she sent that to change her beneficiary yet again. She does this every six months or so. It gives her a sense of satisfaction. I don't have to heart to tell her I don't care.
I'll never have to bury my kids, but I don't want to bury my wife or any more of my friends. I'm selfish that way.
I am also ridiculously happy and want to live forever if this is what life is always going to be.
This deep thought shit before I've had coffee is fucking shite. My brain is an asshole.
I have no idea if this song is good. I just know the kid who is listening to it on Spotify, Jake Sullivan, is the kind of kid who can move souls.