Thursday, March 7, 2013

The run did not help.

But I'm here, anyway. My head is full, which deludes me into thinking I am BUSY, but it's not true. I know this because I found ten minutes this morning where I could change my desktop picture. And then I found another ten minutes where I could change my Facebook wall cover photo. I'm not kidding, here. That's twenty minutes!  So I went for a run, which took 25 minutes. You tell me which twenty was more productive.

We kid ourselves that we can't find time. I never believe anyone when they tell me they're "too busy", because I've got three kids, ten hobbies, and a business to run, and I still find time to mow the lawn, exercise, take out the garbage, read Instapundit, watch The Bachelor, and manage my Facebook profile.

I don't post much on Facebook anymore, but I know people who do. A lot. These are the same people claiming they're too busy to work out, finish that novel, whatever. It's amazing how we kid ourselves.

But at least I got a run in. What entered my head this time? Dead Fascist Tuesday. That was my birthday. Hugo Chavez died, and it was also the anniversary of Stalin's death, so now I'll never forget it. Dead Fascist Tuesday would be a good title. For something.

Also thought about turning 43, which seemed oddly meaningless. Not like "42" which has all the weight of The Meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything behind it. No, just 43. Which may turn out to be a nothing age. Like 38. I don't even remember 38! Years from now I'll look back on 43 and think, "wha'happin?" and then be interrupted by, "Ow, my back hurts... Where are my pills? Who drank all the coffee?"

But... 43. Lincoln walks today. We established this morning that he has completely abandoned one mode of transport for another. He stands. He walks. I can set him down on his feet, and it is an amazing thing. It reminded me to live longer. Hold out for the grandchildren. That's the goal: meet the grandkids. So I went out on that run.

43 seems old to have a 1-year-old. Older than my parents were, after their sixth. So I am going to have to live longer than they did. Not sure I can. I can only do so much.

Hugo Chavez' last words have been revealed. The fascist whispered it to one of his generals, after he suffered a massive heart attack. He said, "I don't want to die... Please don't let me die..." So, yes, we can infer that there was nothing special about him after all. An ordinary mortal, afraid of death. How utterly profound.

If there is a way to avoid that oft-repeated sentiment on your deathbed, well, God has a say in it, I reckon. And if you believe that, then what is there to be afraid of?

My current Facebook wall cover photo:

A near-complete, meaningless and irreverant, collection of old children's toys. On display. Funny thing to busy myself with, at 43. But I'd like to give it to my grandchildren. Personally.