Hard getting up this morning, but it was a good day anyway.

I was on the Z, and I got to do a coupla drainage procedures and that's always fun.

It was a busy day, though, and I did feel pretty guilty that I wasn't helping with the workload, but dammit, someone's got to be there, and the fact that the other techs were getting beat up shouldn't be a factor, after all, I don't think that they feel the least bit guilty when they're the ones doing the procedures.

At any rate, if my legs can be part of the factors, I did do my share of the work today. Hurt a bunch, they do.

Jody and Lee Ann are coming over Saturday, finally, if everyone can stay healthy. It'll be the third time, and the third time's a charm, right?

Karen and Kim are going out tonight, and I'm just gonna go to sleep, I think.

For the bad news of the day... I got the truck running this morning. Pumped the clutch a few times, and it worked OK. Pulled up into the yard far enough that it wouldn't roll back, and then I left it running while I went back inside and brushed my teeth.

Came back out, ready to go to work... and no clutch. Nothing at all.

So I went in and told Karen that she needed to take me to work, and I went back outside to smoke a cigar and contemplate the world.

Karen and I had an appointment to see our financial counsellor at 15:30, so she had to pick me up, too.

And that was good, our investments have done well the last six months, and I really feel better about our financial future. Even with the councillor's fees, we made more than 10%. Which is what we're paying the SOB for in the first place, heh.

Lately I've really been feeling this ennui, and wondering if life was really worth any effort. Well, of course it is, and part of the problem is that I want to live forever.

Living forever is not possible, and I've gotta get my head around living every minute as it's dealt to me, just like everyone else.

And dying is inevitable. But should dying be a goal?

Since it's inevitable, why not?

There should be goals before dying, but, for lack of a better term, dying well *should* be a goal.

And here I am, almost 58 years old, and I should have a will made out, and I should have this and that taken care of... but I don't. If I would die tomorrow, I would feel so fucking guilty for leaving so much for Karen to do....

Well, no, I wouldn't. I wouldn't feel anything. I would be dead.

Nope, I feel guilty *right now*.

I need to have a living will, and a will, and I need to write that Great American Novel that I have in me, heh.

I have lived well, and I want to die well.

And yes, I would like to have an alternative. But I don't.

And none of you, dear readers, do either.

Living hurts.

Every day, every observation, every empathetic thought, hurts.

It's kinda like the original sin, only it's not a sin against a fictional god, it's a sin provided by the real world. The sin of being. The sin of being in a world that's built on a food chain that sometimes puts up on the top, but it's still a food chain. Those proteins need to come from somewhere, heh.

The world is cruel, but that doesn't mean that we have to be.

Eat that cow, eat that bread, drink that milk.

And die.

Or eat that tofu, drink that water....

And die.

Yeah.

Sorry for such a downer entry, I'm not usually like this. Just in January... well, until May.