Eternity

When Pete Townsend wrote the lyrics to “My Generation”, he said “I hope I die before I get old”. No part of me believes that he wasn’t talking to me. 

It’s not a matter of living fast and dying young. No part of me has any interest. Most of my life is spent living at one speed. No part of me knows any other way to be. 

You’ll never find me wild and out. My lifestyle preferences don’t include room for peopleing. The strongest substance I consume is caffeinated, and even then it’s done in moderation. Even then it’s taken responsibly. Unless it’s pumpkin spice season, and then I make no guarantees.

It's not even a question of the kind of corpse I leave. Whether it's great looking is inconsequential. It's insignificant. You could rifle through every pocket of my dead body and you’ll find that no part of me has any shits to give. You wouldn’t count me amongst the beautiful people now. And, unless Death is my fairy godmother. Unless the Reaper arrives equipped for a makeover. Unless Our Lady of the Holy Death carries hair plugs and wrinkle cream. No part of me thinks you’ll ever say my carcass is great looking.

Mine is not a testament to remaining young at heart. It’s the story of someone aged beyond their years. This is not the confession of someone afraid of growing old. It’s the memoir of a man who knows he already is.

No part of me wants to live forever. No part of me would even entertain the thought. Stand me on the highest point of any temple. Take me to the top of the tallest mountain. Show me the kingdoms of the world. Offer me infinite time. Offer me life-undying. Offer me an unfathomable number of years. No part of me would ever say anything other than “fuck that shit”. And, I’d be happy to take a flying leap off the edge.

Immortality sounds exhausting. No part of me wants any part of it. No part of me even wants to live to see forty, and that’s less than a month away from today!

If you give me innumerable lifetimes, you'll discover the innumerable methods of self-sabotaging.

Think of all the friends you'd have to stay in touch with. The small talk. The banter and banalities. All the the people you're disappointed with. All the people disappointed with you. Think of all the doomed relationships. All the failing attempts at betterment. All the things you’ll still never find the time to do. Without death there’s only taxes left, and you can fuck that shit too.

And yet…

Whenever my eyes glance across the sagging bookshelves in an otherwise empty room. Whenever my calculations try to consider all the books tucked in every corner. All the ones stacked upon each other. The ones spilling out and over. All the ones that still need reading. The ones my lifespan won’t allow me to get to. Every part of me wants eternity. Every part of me craves immortality. Every part of me starts wishing that I had more time.

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