As detailed in this entry, August 10th was the birthday of my very close friend Shawn, who passed away in 2003; but this is only peripherally about him.
You see, recently, I have not been sleeping well. I have had bad dreams every single night, dreams which almost always involve my death*. I have been at a loss to explain why, until a few days ago when my insightful fiancé pointed out that I was at the same age Shawn was when he died.
It was a little bit jarring to realize that I was having issue with mortality at my age. I am 39. I don't really think of myself as old. Hell, I barely think of myself as middle-aged, but if I step back an view things objectively, middle-age is upon me, or at the least right on the horizon. Two of my childhood or early adulthood friends have died. My last living grandparent died this past year, as did one of my uncles. The majority of my friends and acquaintances are either married with kids or confirmed lifelong singles.
I really am middle-aged.
This means I have to think about things like retirement. I have to think about my diet, and start worrying if my familial predilection for heart attacks is in fact genetic and not the result of lifetimes of southern high fat and salt diets. I have to exercise…on purpose! I have to contemplate on a semi-regular basis a world without me in it. I have to make plans for when I am gone.
I hate this. Some scientist needs to invent a machine that stops time. Like…yesterday.
*As a side note, that stuff you've heard about dying in a dream meaning you really die? Total bullshit.