Seeing Thestrals

Yeah. So, like, um… yeah.

No, I haven’t watched anybody die yet. But there’ve been a few deaths on my watch, and a couple of in-person close calls that did not yield fatalities.

Yeah. When funeral services comes by, I have to make sure they take the “employees only” side haul when they take a body bag out, so as to avoid unwanted attention. But it pays decent. Yeah. Um… this is not what I had in mind when I declared a music major.

Reminder: For those of you just joining us, I work night shift security at a retirement home. It’s a nice establishment, and only a fraction of the residents are in assisted living, so it’s not quite that morbid. And I’m a sarcastic prick with a thick, thick, thick skin, a severe sense of detachment from my surroundings. That helps.

But dude. Really. As much as I love a job that gives me a totally sweet walkie-talkie to carry, there are things I could do without. One of the security cameras I have to watch constantly displays old people with Alzheimer’s just milling around, forgetting which room they live in. That’s so sad to watch every day. Every hour. And even worse when I have to patrol the “memory floor” and encounter them in person. Living zombies, shambling about with creepy, vacant stares. Zombies who can (sort of) talk to you and won’t eat your brains.

I ask myself, “Is this what we all have to look forward to?”

If we’re “lucky.” Yeah. Because “lucky” is having a long life and not getting creamed by a semi truck on an icy road at the tragically young age of 59. “Lucky” is living to the age of incontinence and delirium? Where maybe, just maybe, for ten minutes every four days or so, you can have enough lucidity to remember your children’s names? Is that what we all have to look forward to?

I would think that “lucky” would be living to a relatively old age with your health, mind, and dignity intact. Given the choice between Alzheimer’s or cancer, I choose ZOMBIES.

Nah, look at it this way: by the time we are that old, geriatric care in this country will be virtually nonexistent, and we’ll all die on the streets long before we reach our initial life expectancy.

Yup, it’s all sunshine and kitten farts on my blog today.

Part of my job involves emergency procedures. Fine. But it’s a wee bit awkward to be in the room with someone having seizures.

And speaking of zombies, that’s a bit what it looks like on my security feed. I much prefer the independent living buildings, where all I have to deal with are charming old rich racist white people. But they’re mostly asleep. And they sometimes leave candy out for me.

Yeah, basically, Fate fucked me. Some of you know how much I hate Johnson County and why, and you are keeling over laughing hard at the hand Fate dealt me with this job. The rest of you don’t even know why Johnson County is detestable. Count yourselves lucky. “Lucky” as in real lucky, not thank-God-I-lived-long-enough-to-experience-Alzheimer’s lucky,

I fucking hate Johnson County of Kansas City. This is the Texas Chapter. Yeah. Take Johnson County and combine it with the spirit of Texas. Yeah. I’ll give you a minute to digest that. Looking at you, Herr Vogler and the pikey.

I really don’t want to grow old if this is what we have to look forward to. Hey, maybe if I’m lucky, my wife will die, and I’ll live in a geriatric fraternity ward where I can be bored out of my fucking mind (because, let’s face it, we’re a different generation with different needs for mental stimulation) and eventually graduate to the Alzheimer’s wing, and maybe after that… hospice care!! WOOOOO!!! Live long and prosper.

Seize the day. You’re young. You. Yes. Relish it.

As the good Captain says, “Life is singular and awesome.” Live it up, because you are living. Regardless of your belief in any perceived afterlife, this is it. This is life. This is Earth. This is everything. This is singular and awesome. You are alive. So what if you get old and have a depressing final repose—right now you have glory at your fingertips!

So take a deep breath of air. Air. Fresh, sweet air, more fragrant than any artificial perfume. Air. Real, mortal, fresh air of the Earth, such as angels envy.

Look around. This is it. This is great. This is everything. This is the thrill of living. This is the most anyone could ask for.

The clock may be ticking, but right now things are too fantastic and magnificent for you to ponder anything so anticlimactic as the eventual decline of man.

Something about all of this makes me want to watch Fight Club.

In closing, I present excerpts from an email I sent to the Captain (as such, the language may be even more salty than it is here on the blog):

We have to do active shit NOW. This is why I get off on listening to Pirates of the Caribbean while chugging the last, cooled gulps of my 12-oz. coffee cup, and taking sharp turns... because I have PLACES TO BE, mother fucker!

Because you're right, whether you're atheist or not, life IS awesome and singular. It sucks that we get so mired in stress and short-term concerns like making ends meet, but even on a shitty day I have the existentialism and the appreciation of cinematography and film music to actually thoroughly enjoy a shitty day…

Life is awesome because it's fleeting. Even if you believe in golden streets and infinite banquet halls, you'd be an ungrateful douche not to love the smell of rain.

The main reason I love alcohol is because it enables lateral thinking. It triggers a sort of free-association of memories, ideas, and emotions. I tell ya, give me a bottle of Sailor Jerry and put iTunes on shuffle, and good luck trying to hold a steady conversation with me. All the fleeting moments come back on the other side of rose-colored glasses. Alcohol is a gift.

However, alcohol--like many such niceties--can bite you. There is too much of a good thing, and I take issue with the people who use atheism to justify living in excess. You're just stunting your spirit with too much pleasure. Obviously alcohol is bad for your health, so you won't live as long if you abuse it. That's an obvious example. Too much of a good thing is, well, a bad thing.

Then again, I don't fear death, either. I fear squandering life. But even if you did squander life, is it really that bad? If you're just a consumer, someone who absorbs entertainment but doesn't contribute, is that really so bad? Hopefully you're at least appreciating it. But that's why I'm a creative type... so I can get shit done.

Did I just assume cosmic significance for my killer scarecrow screenplay ideas? Yeah. I think I did.