I break the pregnant pause of all this dead air for some hiccups of agitation from the repressed prison of my ribcage. All that trapped oxygen I’ve sucked on the past few days of swollen throat glands now rises up into these guttoral expectorations of air from inside my gnarled chest.
Hiccup:
For you see I have been dancing the dance of the little death the past few days. Been a bit sick. Couldn’t swallow for much of yesterday. Not without some drama. But altogether I still felt better and feel better today. But being sick reminds me of how the end will be. Even a relatively minor go round like this was. It’s always like a sneak preview of death and I hate it. And considering I am probably closer to death than birth at this point it’s especially troubling.
It’s like a movie trailer previewing the bodies inevitable failures, the weariness, the helplessness, and the ultimate aloneness that awaits at the end of the road whenever and wherever it may come. Unless of course I go quickly in some type of accident. But most go quietly, not with a bang but a whimper. Not everyone is as alone as I most probably will be at that final sickness. Not physically anyway. But mentally with the decayed memories many have, even loved ones nearby doesn’t always alleviate the darkness and desolation inside as your clock ticks down its final seconds.
Being sick has long reminded me of of what it will be like even though I’ve never experienced it first hand. It used to make me make vows to do things better. Oaths of greater effort, vigilance, and ambition would be weakly uttered through the layers of sick dust in my throat. Now I don’t even bother. Death is no longer a great enough threat or scare to make me change and I am less capable of change than ever. It sort of goes together it would seem. The slippery slope of dropping standards has been reached. And I can’t begin to describe how wonderful that is while working harder than ever to pay rent and utilities while still having no home and nothing that feels like mine.
One of my guys at work may be dying. He has alzheimer’s and has been a shell of his old self anyway. We don’t want to say it but I know everyone kind of thinks it would be best if he just went on his way rather than being in the nursing home he’s in at the moment, coming back, or even being switched to another home which is being talked about now. I guess everyone at work is technically sick. Except the cats and some of the staff. Which makes being sick myself even more palpably apocalyptic. As well as coming home to my father’s brand of sickness everyday after working hard. Wherever I turn there is sickness and hardness with no relief. Only the promise of more. And the need to explode continues to get sucked down deep into my chest, exhorted only in short hiccup bursts like these. Or when I run into the odd woman who I can fall into the illusion of softness and intimacy with with some moments of engagement even if only of a verbal nature.
And I miss the cats at work when i’m not there. To be honest they are the only kind, gentle, or soft things in my world on a regular basis. To reference Lost, they are The Constant. I want to abduct them and take them home but they are not mine though they feel like they are. I see why animals are considered important for old people as companions. Humans need some. Studies indicate they keep people alive longer. They lower blood pressure. On some quantum level I think they make a person more real by being the only living things left that is observing them anymore.
Animals are probably my destiny. I will perhaps leave all this and go somewhere where I can live among them exclusively. Now I’m not one of these people saying I like animals better because they’re pure, more honest, less judgmental, or more loyal. This is stupid. All those traits are abstract qualities of civilized and advanced brains. Animals are probably more selfish. They act more on base instinct. Their loyalty generally goes as far as whoever has the greater willingness to feed them regularly.
But I’ve loved them and gotten on well with them because I think we understand each other and what we need. We enter into that agreement and unlike humans they don’t have as much freedom to back out of it or as much knowledge that there are better options out there for them than me.
They are more easily content and amused I think is what it comes down to. And when i drop my standards enough, which i’m more willing to do for pets, so am I. The unconditionality of their love that many point to seems a bit suspect to me. Nothing is unconditional except in the way a desperate, abused woman may unconditionally keep giving more chances because she sees no other options or alternatives, and comes to rely on the familiarity of her abuser and the few good times which seem larger in their infrequency.
I’ve never wanted unconditional love. You have to earn it. And keep earning it. Anything really, not just love. Love, like freedom and justice is a concept. An abstract idea. These things have been earned where they exist and can be lost if not diligently guarded. I’ve never believed in guarding them with the possessiveness of many relationships but rather with the kindness, consistency, honesty, loyalty, and more born of considered decisions. Getting that back from people just doesn’t happen much. Animals may not make that choice as intellectually but it is inherent in their simple understanding of the world. And I think this is why we get along and understand each other.
I will continue to scratch their heads and necks in just the right places and they will continue to stretch out on my lap. I will feed them regularly and they can be counted on to purr or lick my face. I will proved them shelter from the cold and they will provide living contact and rub at me heels to show their continued appreciation. I will not hurt them and they will not crap on my bed.
Some of these arrangements take some time and training. Not much different than with people. But people change their minds and want different things as time goes by. They don’t want to be with the same person all the time for the rest of their lives no matter what they may say. Animals are easier to please. Simpler in their needs. The give and take need not be so nuanced and therefore lasts longer and remains in that bubble that will not be burst by outsiders or any of the other forces of both external and internal types which act to take the air out of most of our human relationships eventually.
And I probably can’t even have an animal at home due to my situation here. So that’ll have to wait. Ever get the feeling you’re waiting on living your life until you notice you’re running out of life?
All my congratulations to you if you don’t.
As Eddie Vedder once growled, “This is not for you!”

I feel another hiccup coming. Wait for it….