Your Daily Dose of Bummer

Don't know what to say today. I've been melancholy, and I'm not sure why. The sun was out, the bills are paid, and I have a place to call my own. But for all that, my thoughts have wandered morose paths. I keep thinking about what the rest of my life holds for me. How much longer is my life? Sure, it could be fifty years, but then again, I could be stricken with cancer and die a slow, painful death in the next year. Worse yet, I could get Alzheimer's and lose myself to the years and brain plaques that thieve memories away. I don't want to forget that I could write once. I don't want to forget that once, for a minute, anyway, someone loved me.

Most of all, I worry about being alone. I hate being alone. I think the reason I cried so hard when my ex and I broke up wasn't because I was losing His Highness, The Grand High Poobah of Upper Buttcrack-He was an ass and not much to write home about in the sack; I don't know much, but I'm sure sex was supposed to inspire something other than the need to pee-but because I was sure he was my only chance. I remember crying with my face pressed to my knees and thinking, That's it; there went my chance. I gave everything I had, and it wasn't good enough.

Since then, I've come to realize that it was for the best. He was an incubus that took more than he ever gave, and I'm healthier in his absence. I've lost weight. My blood pressure has gone down. My menstrual cycle regulated. My digestion settled. I sleep better. But I still can't shake the feeling that he was the only shot I had at lifelong companionship. Part of me would rather die quickly and observed than be long-lived and unlamented.

I also wonder why I always get there just a little too late.