MORBID SHIT

Sometimes it seems like everyone is dead. That’s because they are. Everyone I ever knew, anyway. I figured out a long time ago that it was a good idea to make friends with people who are younger than me, because I keep on living while they keep on dying. And they’re all gone now, even the youngest one, who’s a goddam alcoholic with diabetes who got some of those bogus Covid Jabs. I’m 86, she’s 57 and I expect to outlive her. I give her maybe a couple more years, she’s not in great shape.

I wrote on this awhile back but it deserves a second mention here. My best friend in the world, or so I thought, who is still alive, sort of, is also a diabetic and drinks way too much and takes a handful of various pills each day, had a stroke in March of last year and lost himself. He forgot all the shit he’d pulled on me and lied about and when I saw him after he’d recovered enough to drive and get around again, he told me all about it. What a revelation that was, to know that he’d been cheating and lying to me about money all those years.

Truth is, after the stroke he’s a totally different person and no friend of mine. Dead to me.

What got me started on this was wondering when my father’s mother croaked, because most of my relatives died in their middle 90’s except the ones who drank and drugged, and I’m trying to get a handle on what I may expect of remaining years. I’d guess another eight, absolute max, more likely another four.

So if I have any advice to leave you millions of readers out there, it’s this: If you expect to have a long life, make lots of younger friends, and check out their grand parents, make friends with people who still have great grandparents. Don’t end up sitting there wondering where the hell everyone went and why the phone never rings anymore except from telemarketers and medical appointment reminders.