Apropos of Nothing entries

When youre young, obituaries are an abstract with little relevance.

As a rule, no - I dont read the obituaries. But flipping through the LA Times, it suddently JUMPS in your face without warning, telling me all about the recent celebrities who Died Young and Unexpected like.

So, the title of this piece is:

When I became Aware of Mortality

Ez. When people who are exactly your age die of natural causes.

Older than you, sure - thats to be expected, younger than you- ah, tragic.. but you pay rapt ATTENTION when they are within your birth group.

At 36 I read a NY Post entry of this big lug of 36 years-old dying while wrapping Christmas presents for his nephews and nieces.

I paid close attention to all the details, cuz, I realized, it could have been me. Take away the Italian-American heritage, and make him Jamaican.. it WAS me.

Whoo.

Now, Im reading of and looking at pictures of stunningly young people dying. 37/38. My age.

Ive been lucky. Ive not had to attend the funerals of close family and friends.

But both my parents have had strokes. My mom has lost her sister to breast cancer. My fathers famously long-lived siblings are being thinned out.
And my ticker is acting up.

My point?

I dont feel old. Just aware.

And I now, on occasion, stop and skim the obituaries.
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Slumming

Driving back, full on Thai food

"You know, we are gonna look back on this as a vacation. No bills, well fed, free to be."
"Yeah buddy, I agree with you. But I dont wanna do this forever."
"Me neither."

Ive stayed with friends, done a few overnights - and every time Ive had the urgent urge to flee.

I thank my hosts and go back to camping out.

I like waking up under the stars so much that when someone suggested I go up to Northern California and camp out, the idea actually appeals to me, a man who used to look at a sleeping bag roll with distrust.

Now, I feel stifled staying under someone else's roof, however benign or pretty my hosts.

I seriously intend to do some camping out in my travels.

Still, its no life to live long term.

It will end soon.
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When the grandmotherly lady told me the tales of her life, the thing that raised the hairs was not the tales of drug use, prostitution, degradation.

No.

What scared me the most was her assertion of being homeless for 2 and a half years.

"The object of the exercise was to go through this to get SO sick of it that I will avoid this condition like the plague."

"Are you sick of it, yet?"

"*sigh* If Im being honest with myself, no. No, not yet, not totally."

Ive definitely changed in these last few months. Im tougher of mind. More decisive. My mind and eyes have been opened by the people Ive met and encountered. Ive got stories to tell.

But, the hard road has gotten old.