Don’t fear the Reaper

I don’t think it makes sense to fear Death.  I know it was something that I had to deal with early on in my life, and none of the answers given made any sense or were of any comfort.  Why lie to a kid about death?  Same reason we lie about Santa Clause?  What is it that makes us so arrogant we think that we can wish something into existence?  We think we are gods.

Death comes for us all, but there is so much that was avoidable.  That is the part that enrages me.  So many people are dying and will die just because someone is addicted to the chaos and the attention it brings him.  Management by crisis is the oldest tool of the emotionally fragile man-child.

I don’t fear my death.  I welcome it, though I am not chasing it.  I am just in a place where my bucket list is pretty empty.  I still have a reason to get up in the morning, and I always will, but I have seen enough of this world.

I fear being left behind.  No, not like Kurt Cameron and the fun bunch, but because my wife died, because the government has been run by a whiny bitch man-child.  I still have all the dogs, and they need to be taken care of, but I would want to go to war.  I can’t do that, but how do I process so much rage?  I’m impotent to act on such emotions, because there is no one to blame, no one to hold accountable.  That is the most rage inducing.  There are those I could hold accountable, but I do not have the power.  Impotence.  Rage inducing impotence.