Immorality? Feb. 3, 2025

 

Tomorrow is my ex-wife’s birthday.

She already held her party over the weekend, inviting all her closest friends.

She said she wanted to see them all since she’s not sure she’ll get to see them again if she waits.

I guess there’s logic in this. But then, any one of us could go at any moment, from getting run over by old age or a Mack truck.

Unfortunately, we’ve reached an age when – if newspapers still existed – we’d be perusing the obits to look for familiar names – or as the old joke says to make sure our names aren’t there.

Birthdays have always been important to her, even back when we were teens, and marked significant moments in time, such as when we were out in Hollywood, and later while in New York waiting for the birth of our daughter.

She always expected presents, regardless of how impoverished we were, although this year, she gave all her friends presents instead, nothing fancy, just a token of her gratitude for still having them in her life.

I wasn’t invited; I couldn’t have gone even had I been.

We’re too distant and too wrapped up in our own lives; the only time I go out there these days is to see my daughter, who has her own trouble, and didn’t particularly like the party – too many old people talking about things she has no interest in.

My conversations with my ex-wife largely revolve around our daughter or a list of our ailments, hers more significant than mine, although with my most recent doctor’s visit, I cringe at the possibilities of what might transpire.

Jung was more accurate in this regard than Freud. The trauma associated with dying is far worse than what we suffer at birth.

We see the Mack truck bearing down on us, even if we’re not always certain as to when it will hit.

Birth for the most part happens all at once.

The lucky people like Pauly (back in 2020) get blindsided, wiped out in single blow, not even aware of what happened until it’s already happened.

Most of us leave this mortal coil in stages, small things happening, like an old car – brakes, transmission, cooling system, eventually wearing us down until we have nothing left but an old rusted frame.

My ex wife is lucky that she still has her closest friends. Most of mine are gone, as are nearly all of my close relatives.

This is the vampire curse, the idea that immortality means you outlive everybody you’ve ever cared for.

No loneliness is so acute.

Anyway, enough cheerful thoughts on this snowy Monday.

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