Did anybody get the number on that truck?

Did anybody get the number on that truck?

It’s all fun and games,until someone dies.

Its natural,everyday,to get wrapped up into my daily life.Hell, on a good day,I could work myself into an anxiety attack between the speaker box and the pay window at McDonalds, usually over some dumb thing I said five years ago. My brain asserts the idea of death pretty constantly to me, so I spend a lot of time wringing trivial moments for some facet of intimacy,in case the person I’m speaking with dies,and this is our last conversation.

However,

When somebody dies that you know, it is an interesting catalyst.It reminds you that time is passing, and one day, far off in the future, or nearby in the next week, it will be your turn.

I think of it this way.We’re all standing in the middle of a tractor trailer ridden interstate,and eventually, we will get squished.Maybe it’s a truck hauling baby diapers,driven by a born again Christian who used to be a meth head, ¬†or maybe it’s a truck hauling canned goods for a relief effort.Maybe it’s a truck full of hats, or stuffed cats,but we all get squished eventually, and you never know which truck is yours until its too late to dodge.

In Memoriam:

Aunt Nona 1922-2016

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