Mortality.

I skipped working out today.  I wasn't very much in the mood.  I noticed it yesterday when I was in the gym.  I was going through my routine and there was that lackluster feeling, as if I was simply going through everything passively.  I wasn't feeling anything except tiredness, an exhaustion that seems to be deeper than I think it is.  Sure my hamstrings hurt, my legs feel stretched, my shoulders feel like I'm just done carrying the weight of the world, and my chest feels like it just got a boob job; but it's more than that.  I feel restless and exhausted by everything.  And it carried on from yesterday to today and until I don't know when.  That lethargy, of seeming without energy to carry on.

In one of my vacant moments, I was wondering whether what kind of life is better for me.  One that I see around here--old men and women going with their lives, trying as much as possible to extend it, crutches and knee replacements notwithstanding, which from my perspective seems like such a long pause, an excruciating wait to an inevitable demise.  Or another kind of life, short, fast, with a few orgasmic pauses, and then a full stop, which can either be sudden or a brief winding down.  No wasted moments, no wasted time.  Everything counts.

I'm tempted to go for the latter.  Being old does not seem to be such a good idea--what would life be like for an old gay guy? I can only imagine.

I don't know why I have such morbid thoughts--life and death.  Maybe because everyone around me seems to be such a health nut and I'm starting to realize that this is the country where there is so much information about everything it's making me nauseous.  You go to a grocery and there are a thousand and one things people would make you try.  From the essence of a flower to the essence of a man, from what kind of fish to eat (sardines vs tuna vs salmon) to the way they were caught, to the packaging, to canned goods and plastic ones; the amount of sodium, sugar, and sweeteners in everything.  Everyone has a say on what you should and should not eat; it's information overload.  One would trumpet this food as healthy, another would knock it down as poison.  Everyone is so obsessed in living forever, it made me pause and wonder: does it even matter?

Can you still call it life when you're simply breathing?  No reason, no purpose except you're not dead.  Wouldn't it be better if you've enjoyed every moment, drank everything you could, ate everything you wanted; rather than stayed away from everything because you wanted to live longer?