Rachel and I went and signed our last living wills and advance directives this morning. It is an odd, grim affair. Twice now we have completely forgotten about the appointment and had to be called to be reminded. It must be a psychological tic of some sort, not wanting to acknowledge the inevitable. It makes me think of terrible car crashes and fires, even of planes plummeting from the sky, apocalypse or bust. I also think of the less exciting ways to go, the ways that consume more time and are much more likely to occur than one last brief exciting moment, a possible headline story. Strange sensations, envisioning the lives of others after I am gone, the effect that my death might have on them, the re-arranging of minuscule amounts of money. It is a macabre set of thoughts, the post-death procedures.
Today also marks the 5 year point of me working my current job. I'm trying to find the irony in the two things, not sure if there is any, or any that I want to acknowledge anyway. I think of my life 5 years ago and I can barely remember it. I remember floating details of it but the essence has disappeared, the feel for it disappearing in time. I can only seem to evoke a vague sense of it by forming an amalgam of a few details, never able to really grasp and feel it any longer as it was. It is a time lost and gone, except for the scratchings left on the wall. I am a different person now, uncertain as before, but headed in a more certain direction. I'm told that life is preferable this way. Everybody agrees.
I can see the plain truth of it. I have things now I never had before. Things that never even seemed possible then: a wife, a child, a move to the opposite coast, hopefully a condo that we will own soon. We will find out in the next few days if our offer has been accepted. If it is, then we have 17 days of "discovery" where we are allowed to have inspections performed. Then based on our findings we re-negotiate, if that's necessary.
We included a letter of introduction and a family picture, all of us on the front lawn in the sun, smiling, with the dog. Ozzie and Harriet is the accusation.
There's the proof.
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