So sometimes I think weird things. Like this morning (and many winter mornings) I was thinking about how even though I know that cold is really the absence of heat, it still feels like the cold is seeping in instead of the heat seeping out when I’m walking from the train to work. I try to envision the heat depleting but the best I can do is sort of see an exchange — which I suppose it really is, exchanging the heat for the cold, ugh. I am so sick of the cold. But you would think with all the layers I wear it would take longer than 5 seconds to start feeling that cold, or should I say absence of heat, begin. Anyway, I don’t know why it matters so much what I think about it. Why should it matter whether I see it as cold seeping in or heat being pulled out? But it does. I’ve always been like that, even when I was a kid.
Other weird things… I was having a conversation at lunch today with my son and my husband and mentioned something about our trust/will, etc. and my husband always jokes when I do that saying, “Here’s my little drop of sunshine,” or whatever. Thing is, I work in a law office where we do estate plans and administer estates, etc. so it just feels like business to me, it doesn’t seem morbid and my son works here part time with me. So I said, “Well, (my son) knows what I’m talking about. It’s just business to me.” But then my son said, “If ever a day goes by when Mom doesn’t mention her mortality, I’ll know something’s wrong.”
I didn’t realize I talked about it as much as I thought about it and I guess I don’t because I sure think about it more than once a day. I’m not exactly afraid to die but I have this constant awareness, like the Grim Reaper standing behind me with his scythe or whatever it is he carries. It’s as if I have to constantly think about it so it won’t take me by surprise, as if that would make any difference.
I heard about that guy from Night Court dying this morning then found out he was my age! I was just reminded I have now entered the mine field of death. Plenty of people my age die, or a year older or two years older or three years older. But, then again, my mom lived til 90, my aunt til 91, my grandma til 90-something. There’s a pretty good hit rate in my family (although I don’t think I’d even like to live that long).