Next door Debbie popped in for a sec to talk about her garden and how now that she's in her 5o's she's watching all her friends die and visits her sister at a nursing home.
I know I'm 19, but I still feel like my parents should ask me politely to go play on the computer or go watch T.V. in my room whenever something this depressing occurs. My mom would look at my dad and silently spell out "d-e-a-t-h" while my dad would make a face that says this ridiculous but his mouth says "lets go get ice cream in the kitchen".
Then I wake up and realize I understand the effects of chemo, how a tumor builds inside, like a ball of hate waiting to explode while your lungs and liver cry until the brain signals that its ok, they can give it a rest, and they slowly fall asleep until you all shut off and your thoughts and soul and effects on others and things begin to fade away.
So I sit here, eating my pasta and meatballs, listening to Debbie talk about her ripe age and all the death that surrounds it as if its as common as cherry pie and all I can think about is how I should go to Europe and live among artist and vagrants, when what I should be doing is stop hating myself for getting old and forgive myself for growing up.
All I know is that I should live fast and die young before death equals cherry pie.