So many things in pop culture, and so many things that surround me currently, have exacerbated my normal obsession with mortality. Which, counterintuitively, has made me thankful for the life I have left. There are so many things I’ve been mad about for so long now, and so much damage I’ve done to my life by honoring that anger. Until relatively recently I believed it to be righteous, when, in fact, it was self-righteous. It’s like that scene in Evil Dead 2 when Ash thinks he’s choking an evil, undead antagonist, but when he looks over his shoulder into a mirror he’s actually choking himself.
I’m grateful though for the things I have and have had, even if some of them, at least for now, are lost. I’m grateful for the times that life could have punished me, but instead, let me off with a warning. I’m even grateful for the times I wasn’t guilty but was treated as if I was. I’ve learned the hard way how to deal with these situations should they arise in the future, and they will.
My son-shared birthday is next Tuesday so as a present to myself I’ve been watching videos of him and his sister from the impossibly cute and precious ages between three and five when I was lucky enough to be a daily part of their lives.
I am melancholic, but I am grateful.