Death On The Brain

If I had to guess, I would say that I have imagined my own death more times than the average person. Not as much as say, Edgar Allan Poe, or other such Goths, but still, a lot, especially for the happy, well adjusted person I like to think I am. Where the preoccupation comes from, I have no idea, but for as long as I can remember, even back to my early childhood, it is not uncommon for me to space out during whatever I am doing and imagine some form of my own unpleasant demise.

Back before car seats were a mandatory expense to parents, my mom would let me curl up like a cat on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Lying there, surprisingly comfortable in the small space, I would imagine head-on collisions that would push the dashboard to the seat leaving me trapped, assuming I survived the initial impact, like a sardine in a can, until I finally suffocated.

We got a trampoline in my youth and I imagined breaking my neck a variety of ways. The most common involved me doing a back flip, sticking my head between the springs as my body continued backward over the bar as my neck finally succumbed to the pressure and would snap.

While mountain biking I’d imagine wrecks that would leave me broken, bloodied, and paralyzed. But in my mind the wreck never killed me. Death came later as I tried to pull myself to safety; usually being eaten by wolves or a bear. (After I watched the movie, Deliverance, the wild animals were substituted by back-woods hillbillies that would eat me only after robbing me of my virtue.)

No matter what the scenario, it’s usually long and detailed. And since I’ve never sat down with a psychologist and explained the fixation I’ve never learned if it’s either abnormal or unhealthy. I’ve just always assumed that since I’m a functioning member of society and I have no desire to harm myself that this violent imagery doesn’t put me in any high-risk psychological categories. Maybe it’s an asset. Maybe when I do finally meet my end I’ll be able to say, while drifting away from my lifeless body, “I saw that coming from a mile away.” Unless, of course, I die of old age. That would totally come out of left field.

Just out of curiosity, have you ever thought about it? If so, how to you meet your end?

Cats and Credit

The number of cats owned in relation to credit score for single females living in Kentucky.

Question 5

SCENARIO: You and your spouse have three children. Their ages are five, three, and the youngest, a boy, is 6 months. One day, just as your spouse is leaving on a three day business trip, your 6 month old son comes down with a terrible flu. His temperature rises to a alarming 106 degrees. Your doctor, who is a genius in the art of pediatrics, tells you there are only two ways you can save your son.

Cure 1) You must put your baby in a crib where you must leave him alone for the entire three days your spouse is gone and allow him to struggle through the flu on his own and under no circumstances enter the room. You may not enter to feed him and all his nourishment will be attained through the use of a gerbil type feeder attached to the side of his crib which he will struggle with, but manage to use. You will not need to change his diaper as he will produce no waste. He will scream for the entire 3 days which will not only wreck every nerve you have but leave you feeling a depth of guilt that few parents know. The screaming will also have a contagious effect on your other two children and they will become increasingly distressed, anxious, and confused by your seemingly calloused alienation of their suffering younger sibling. At the end of the 3 days the illness will finally subside and just before your spouse arrives home your baby will drift peacefully off to sleep. Though physically healthy this experience will leave all three of your children with minor subconscious trust issues.

OR

Cure 2) On the first night home from the hospital you must go to bed with your baby and allow him to fall asleep on your chest and remain there the entire night while you pat him on the back and sing to him softly. The next morning, after a long sleepless night, your son will be fully recovered. However, this experience will have left him conditioned more deeply and fully than even Pavlov's Dogs. The conditioning will go well beyond the subconscious. It will cause a lasting change in his very physiology leaving him conditioned to the point that for the next 21 years, anytime he catches an illness of any kind the only way he can recover, and rid himself of it, is to sleep the entire night on top of you. When he gets chicken pox as a first grader, he must sleep on you. When he gets mono from kissing the wrong girl at a middle school dance, he must sleep on you. Cold, flu, sinus infection, whooping cough, strep throat, pink eye, hemorrhoid, syphilis, etc. The only road to recovery is a night of sleeping on your torso. When, at the age of 21, he has his wisdom teeth out, he must lay his head on your soft bosom, while you pat his back and softly sing the entire night. If he cannot sleep on you, he cannot recover... ever.

QUESTION: Which option do you choose and why?

2012 in Retrospect

"Aaaahhh, 2012."
For the last few days I've enjoyed saying that with a breath of nostalgia while reclining, kicking up my feet, and lacing my fingers behind my head.
"What a year."
Sometimes I say that too.
Other exclamations I've been heard uttering whilst reminiscing about 2012 include; "Deeee-amn!" "We gotta do that sh#@ again." and "Sheeeeesh." This last one will be accompanied with a slight head shake and a wry smile.
That's how good my year went. In fact, I improved more in 2012 than I did in the last 10 years combined. This is the first time I neared the end of the year and found I had no more sins to repent of, and no more blessing to ask for. So when I prayed, me and God just talked about the weather, the lack of leadership within the GOP, or other mysteries of the universe.

So, what made my year so good, you ask? Well, at the beginning of 2012 I set some pretty lofty goals for myself, and having accomplished all of them, I had what some call a 100% year. I reached my maximum capacity, and realized my full potential.

(A sample of some of my minor accomplishments)

After completing the cannon of American and British Classics, I translated them to Tolkien's Elvish.

I completed P90X, Y, and Z. Then sold my exercise video to Tony Horton.

I finally published the book I'd been working on under the pseudonym E.L. James, then let my heavy set widow neighbor do the press tour for me.

I did pull-ups... all day.

I eradicated offensive, politically incorrect language like "crap" and "retard" and "Mexican" from my vocabulary.

I learned to crap defecate so efficiently that I no longer need to wipe, or wash afterwards.

When my wife got tired of being pregnant, I gestated our 4th baby for the last five months.


Please understand, this is not an attempt to beat my own drum for glories sake. But rather to illustrate a point. I've been pondering ways I could possibly improve on 2012. Is it possible? The simple conclusion I've come to is, no. It's not. For that reason I've decided to forgo goals and resolutions this year. Our New Year traditions may demand my continued growth, but my family, peers and the world around me demand that I slow the Hell down. "Stop and smell the roses," they all say to me. "Life's too short." Or, "You're going to have a stroke and and be one of those people it's awkward to talk to because they have to speak so slow and deliberately." Now, I'm not convinced that all the nay-sayers are right, but out of love for my friends, family and those within my circle of influence I've decided to concede.

So, in conclusion, this is the year I let myself go. Gain a little weight. Let the eyebrows grow back together. Spend more time with my TV and less time with my kids. This is the year The UnMighty puts on the natural man. I'm already one week into the new me, and I have to say, it feels good. Like an old pair of sweats. In fact, I've decided to backslide carelessly just to be fair to 2014. If my plan works out well, I'll make it a tradition; Even years, excel. Odd years, regress.

So bring it on 2013! Let's get wasted!