Not a very edifying read
As I was flying back to the UK, I had a sudden clear vision of being a condemned man in a cell, about an hour before execution. A strange sense of being very much alive, yet certain, not only of death, but death at a fixed time close at hand, and with no possible reprieve.
Still, the condemned man ate a hearty breakfast, or inflight meal, if you will. Beef Bourguignon, Virgin Atlantic style, cheese and biscuits, chocolate cheesecake. They were spoiling us, maybe to make up for the poor movie selection. This must have been one of their old planes, since it didn't have the new view-on-demand movies, just Ladder 49 and a bunch of other crap. I watched De-Lovely, and not for the first time regretted the floods of tears inspired in me by schmalty, emotion-manipulating films. They're rubbish and pants, all at the same time. And high-maintenance: all those extra tissues.
I have been feeling very ashamed of myself the past few days. Ashamed for all the wrong decisions, failed relationships, false starts in my life, the innocents mixed up in it, the kindnesses I've ended up abusing almost by default. It gets harder and harder to re-invent yourself as you get older, it seems; you end up dragging everything from the past along with you. It's settle down or bust. Or live life in a shell of bare bones. In the words of Ed Rooney, no snot nosed punk is going to leave my cheese in the wind. No wait, I mean, in the words of Ed Rooney: between grief and nothing, I'll take grief.
Everything is a transaction. No one really ever gives anything. The more I need from anyone, the more debts I'll have to repay later. And it seems you can do that the easy way, or the hard way. Or maybe it's the hard way, or the even harder way. Maybe the master, John Hegley, said it best: life is like a cream doughnut, without any cream. And without... any doughnut.
This endeth the lesson. Now let us pray.
Still, the condemned man ate a hearty breakfast, or inflight meal, if you will. Beef Bourguignon, Virgin Atlantic style, cheese and biscuits, chocolate cheesecake. They were spoiling us, maybe to make up for the poor movie selection. This must have been one of their old planes, since it didn't have the new view-on-demand movies, just Ladder 49 and a bunch of other crap. I watched De-Lovely, and not for the first time regretted the floods of tears inspired in me by schmalty, emotion-manipulating films. They're rubbish and pants, all at the same time. And high-maintenance: all those extra tissues.
I have been feeling very ashamed of myself the past few days. Ashamed for all the wrong decisions, failed relationships, false starts in my life, the innocents mixed up in it, the kindnesses I've ended up abusing almost by default. It gets harder and harder to re-invent yourself as you get older, it seems; you end up dragging everything from the past along with you. It's settle down or bust. Or live life in a shell of bare bones. In the words of Ed Rooney, no snot nosed punk is going to leave my cheese in the wind. No wait, I mean, in the words of Ed Rooney: between grief and nothing, I'll take grief.
Everything is a transaction. No one really ever gives anything. The more I need from anyone, the more debts I'll have to repay later. And it seems you can do that the easy way, or the hard way. Or maybe it's the hard way, or the even harder way. Maybe the master, John Hegley, said it best: life is like a cream doughnut, without any cream. And without... any doughnut.
This endeth the lesson. Now let us pray.