a good night for me, sitting upright. That’s what books are like. And then there is the fade out with the warm feeling.Real life is about waking up on the floor, real life is about cooking your own organs from your body dying. Real life is about being rolled over on your side to be drained so that you don’t drown on your spittle, or when you pass out half way through drinking a coke. Real life being scared EXCEPT when your body isn’t telling you to breathe, when your pupils are fixed and the voices are very far away. It is all very far away. Real life is having bruises you don’t remember getting.
Real life is money. Real life is when a lapse of memory means running out of a medicine because you have six or seven, and there is always one or another about to run out. Real life is having to pay money for a book on “dying with dignity.” Which is a joke because when your hair is ripped out, your clothes ripped and stained while people try to move you or roll you to clear your airway, and you are drooling on yourself, the idea of ‘life with dignity’ seems more interesting.Real life kinda sucks.
Sometimes, you get beaten so bad, that even if you got up, no one would be able to notice. Sometimes a small stoke is a “good day.” And you wonder how the people they send can do “assisted living” when they don’t to appear to have woken up to life yet?
This is the point in the book where the protagonist feels a clear sense of happiness and victory. Real life is seeing pictures of yourself smiling at races and not remembering what that felt like. Movies hate real life. We hate real life.
This is death, this is goodbye. And it takes a while before all of the body and brain stops moving. Our society is scared of it, maybe readers are too. Goodbye.I don’t have the chance to leave, any more than today I had the choice of where the drool would land. Spittle. I wonder not if my hair will keep growing afterward, but will I die and STILL have a mouth full of saliva?
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