I haven’t written much lately.  Frankly, I  haven’t had a lot to say.  But the other day, I was in a weird funk; something I’ve written about before but has weighed heavily on my mind:

I turned 41 about a-week-and-a-half ago.  I lost The Old Man two-and-a-half-months ago.  Needless to say, it has me thinking about my own mortality. A LOT lately.

I am The Human Bomb.

Of course, I’m not suggesting that I am the World War II era comic book character, or his modern day successor.  But like Captain Picard says in “Star Trek: Generations”  I’ve come to realize that I most likely have fewer days ahead of me than I have behind me.  And that sucks.

The Old Man was 67 when he died.  That means if I live no longer than he did, I have about 26 years left on this Earth.  That scares the hell out of me.

I’m not dying or anything.  Hell, I’m not even sick.  I feel better than I have in a long time.  Aside from the time I was working out a couple years ago, I probably feel the best I’ve ever felt in my life.  The truth is, I feel like I’m just getting started.  Divorce is the great reset in 21st century American society and I’m happier than I’ve ever been.  i want A LOT more than 26 more years with The Auteur and the family that we’re building together.  There’s just so much I still want to do in this world.

I’m reluctant to use the expression “mid-life crisis”.  I’m not about to get a sports car.  I’m sure as Hell not about to leave my family.  But maybe it’s time I start on my Bucket List and crossing things off of it.