987 DAYS LEFT not every morning will you wake in this flat and warmth

 WHAT does it tell me that I have waited a week to continue this count down?  That I am lazy?  That I am letting days slip through my fingers, the final 987 days of living disregarded as if they would go on forever?

No, of course not but I have not been right of late. Not in the heart, not in the mind and when you are not right the days get buried beneath the absence of joy.;

It doesn't fucking matter.  What matters is IF I thought about this - I will turn 60 in what, 17 months SO I might not even have 987 days left to live.  Once I stop working I am fucked and my flat will be no more, my relationship will be no more and I will be fucked.  Now, maybe I can keep working after 60 no reason why not but imagine for fuck's sake

Yes, I know, I have thought ok, fuck it lose it now, let it all go, what fucking difference does it make, deny love, deny hope, deny happiness and live the rest of your days curled up into this ball of hatred.  

The whole thing started thinking of the cold, walking in the 5th with Kattia, the girl who is supposed to be the love of your life and yet you are so self-obssessed, so dying to get on with the ME portion of living, the contacts, the reading the writing the sports whatever, all of it to avoid being mentally, spiritually, emotionally with the person you allege to love and either I don't love her as much as I think I do OR I have devolved into such an ogre that I am incapable of seeing.

The thing is, if this fear is well founded or not (I am betting no and that this is a moment of fear and paranoia) I have to look at myself, inwards, to be better.  This is no way to live out the last of the moments in fear of missing out on a goddamned moment alone, is it?  I don't think so.  I should be celebrating.  I am with the love of my life.  Why do I have to convince myself of this?  Because I am bitter and stupid that life has been so good to me?

Because if I think like that I might have to stop hating my dead mother for liking a goddamned shitty president ? 

I dunno but IF the point of this blog is to make myself aware of the time that is slipping through my fingers, yesterday was a good example of the struggle.  

I don't feel like I am nearing death so why should I be, right?  Can I control that?  No, I cannot control how much time I have left.  I CAN control how to make the time I have left good.  Appreciated.  Loved.

This is what Kattia is teaching me whether she knows it or not. This is the final love lesson, not of self, I have mastered love of self but love of others and love for life itself because Kattia knows how to love life, she did not grow up surrendered to bitterness.  I am more and more curious about her all the time.

I have to shrink my world to that of not just me but even smaller.  To not care.  To not be loud about living.  To hide back there in the corners and take it all in, loving it - loving it?  Why?  It is ugly.  People walk too slow and the streets are too crowded and you get angry and frustrated and tense because you are constantly having to walk around people, the street slalom of living in narrow streets but fuck, you are supposed to walk these narrow streets not in the middle of the day but in the middle of the night when the ghosts of the past are still swirling not the horrors of consumerism.  

Shari, the ex - I dreamt about her last night, an ugly sexual matter and knew that she was on my mind solely because of having read about the care workers being forced to vaccinate or lose their jobs and I wondered what she chose to do in the end.  

What does this have to do with fear of you future?

I felt fear yesterday and even this morning crawling up your skin like a slow disease and yet after writing about previous loves and life you start to feel like so what in fact, it doesn't matter.

I want to know that the future will be ok but how far into the future are we talking?

I always took the future for granted but up yonder out there I can see the end of the future.

The end of me constructing my history.

I was spooked by the homeless.  I had been spooked by the homeless.  

I saw myself alone and cold in the street and these weren't even drunks, these were maybe East European refugees (they had the high fat cheekbones of Slavs) 

I am afraid of losing what I seem to do nothing but complain about.

In the absence of this life I would yearn for these days?  The warmth of this lovely flat which might be the last flat I ever live in and why is it lovely?  Because it is where Kattia and I live together, where we share parts of our lives together.  Where I write, where I find sanctuary at times.  We have spent who knows how much time maybe 8 years or something already here together and I have never lived since childhood in the same place for this long.  

Yet all I do is complain how I hate the Marais because there are too many consumerist zombies blocking my path to walk in peace through my own fucking neighbourhood and that is true but early in the morning there is no one around and there is just all this beauty and history everywhere.  

I love my life here no matter how much I complain about it.

I notice that I spend so much time in denial why?  Because I am living in fear and if I deny everything I have nothing to lose and no pain to feel and this is how I have lived so much of life, negatively, expecting the worst and yet still coming on and on, trying still looking for signs of real life in my own head and in the lives of the people around me.  

Why am I so quick to express negativity instead of wallowing in the beauty of the life that I have somehow created or at least been part of during its creation?  (give most credit and points to Kattia for living in this fat, she found it she decorated it she filled it with her love and you filled it with cigarette smoke a creative energy and bitterness and misery.  Interesting.

So it is not going to kill me to open my veins and convince myself that life does not have to be bitter to create, does not have to be hated to be loved.  It can just be loved.

THIS is the lesson I am trying to teach myself over and over again.  Not bitterness which I have mastered, but how to appreciate the moment THIS moment in life which is not ugly but beautiful because you have no idea of how ugly it can or will get you only have faith that it will continue until you can hold on for Universal income or who knows what white knight will come out of civilisation to save you in the end, you don't know.  something somehow you have always known instinctively will save you and maybe you are wrong but maybe I am not wrong.  

Fear of the future


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