Mortality

11/08/05 Tuesday Night 10:50 P.M.
Have not written in this thing for some time. No good excuse for it. Time passes quicker and quicker as the years move on. Like a rate with an exponent on it. Speaking in mathematical terms. Time is a rate, its two numbers that multiply to create years all reflecting on a point of origin in the past, whethere it be your birthdate or five minutes ago or 5 million years ago, but speaking in reference to a birthdate, and relative to the year that you were born it seems like it is more than that. Its like an exponent is placed at the end of the second number, as the older I get the faster time moves. It merely my perception but I have heard others say it. To say that time moves at a constant rate implies that 2 variables are multiplied to give a number that would represent how fast time would move. The exponent is because time seems to move faster every year. It does not seem constant. “Perspective” is a funny thing though and I am sure many would disagree. I imagine that if everyone looked hard enough few would find true constant rates in life. Think of the most well tuned clock, it moves at a rate. Or some would say but I think that if you looked at it long enough or exact enough you would discover small error. As it breathes in and out instead of the same breath in and same breath out it would change eventually, for that matter as far as I can think now….seems like the only constant in life is that on a long enough time line everyone mortality rate is 100% (to steal a similar quote from “fight club”). And that is my fear. Death, End, Change, It has gripped me from the age of I think 16. Shortly after my grandparents died I went though a rough two week period where I was consumed with my own mortatlity. The only comfort I could find was with my mother. Being around her talking to me. To skip all the nasty details It was like having a monkey on my back, always there, even though I might not pay attention as much he was always there. I saw no end in sight and no comfort anywhere. I looked into the faces of other people and saw them as dead already, the fear was a thought followed by wrentching of my stomach. I didn’t know what to do, I did as much as I could to make myself happy that instant. Although I don’t remember much about that time, I do remember the fear. Only because it still visits me from time to time. It comes in hits me hard and leaves me just as fast. It took me years and years to get myself out of it. Even though that two week period was the worst, doest not imply that it stopped in any way, I leaned to cope and make myself feel better. Make myself forget or get focused on something else. Basically ignoring it. Over time it happed less and less. One week it would only consume me part of a couple days, and eventually it would not consume me for a week, and even later now where it hits me hard about every (guessing) 3 months. I try not to blame them but my parents were so un equipped to handle me at that time due to the fact that they were both crazier than I was. My dad was scared that I was not ready to face the world, he was also on a journey of his own at that point to become a hermit. Which he is fully now. My mom got an inheritance which she blew in a year, and shouldn’t of. She bought and bought and bought. I assume she had a plan in all of it but god knows what it was, the farm she had smelled of death, she was terrible overweight at the time and was tring to be a farmer. It was too much for her every animal she purchased or that managed to be unlucky enough to be born there died. Including at least one large cow. She called me one day at work to ask if I had a chain so she could drag this dead cow somewhere ( I can remember where). I love her to death but still to this day had no idea what she was thinking. It was like that place was cursed. You could smell it in the air. I rembember going down to the lake in winter where it had frozen over. I cant seem to remember why I had gone down there. I was on the edge of the lake standing over the ice and noticed something in the ice below me. Typically this area of the lake was a muddy part, full of stagnant water and slime/seaweed. As I looked down I realized the thing I was looking at frozen in the ice was my west highland white terrier named dabney. I didn’t cry, I am not sure why, but I should have. I should have been sad but at the same time had become numb in a way to most everything, it was a defense mechanism and still is to this day that I can not shut off. That dog was so cute though, he would walk sideways sort of and run that way as well. I had not seen him for awhile and with all the goings on had not taken care of him either.