Friends. I died.
I no longer ponder what death will be like. I closed my eyes. Felt a sharp excruciating pain gouge through my body. And then...
Nothing.
I died.
But, before I died....
Lung infection, pneumonia (twice, thanks to "global warming" -25 below zero Minnesota winters), a non cancerous tumor, respiratory infection, ulcer, two major spinal injury car accidents, two near drownings, buried childhood friends, outlived my young father, outlived an even much younger mother, and enough drink and cigarettes to drown and smoke the entire state of Minnesota, but onward I lived, strong and healthy, pseudo-bulletproof as your God saw fit. Why? What for?
I never thought I would live so long. Inconceivable. Absurd. Impossible literally to the point of ridiculous. Cheetos Flaming Hot, red food dye poo, ridiculous! And that is precisely how my outlook on life became before I died --comparable to Cheetos Flaming Hot, red food dye poo.
I lived in a world where parents are no longer responsible for their children, and adults blame animals for human mistakes. Surfers blame sharks for being attacked in the ocean. Their solution, kill the shark. Mom is too thoughtless to notice her kid is about to fall into a gorilla pit. Their solution, kill the gorilla.
Humans kill. Animals. Other humans. Fuck it. Just kill something. Anything. As long as you recklessly and thoughtlessly make it stop breathing.
--That "mom" needs to seriously fuck off and die. My parents were the after school special of what NOT to do, but for all the idiotic zoos I visited as a child, I never once fell into a gorilla pit.
Humans don't take responsibility anymore.
Expectations of entitlement among family, friends, coworkers, and even strangers, have reached an all time high.
I had an Uber app. Used it a dozen plus times. I (always) tipped between $5-$7. Always. Even though I didn't have to. I always tip. I mind my own business. Do stuff on my phone. I appreciate the ride. My usual fare was between $5-$12, plus tip. And I (always) gave my drivers 5-star ratings. But when I checked the rating Uber drivers gave me this month, I learned I was 4.6 out of 5 stars. And it's only one week into June. WTF? Passenger ratings dictate your next Uber driver. Then I read online Uber drivers give passengers bad ratings for not traveling far enough (they know how far I'm going when they pick me up), or for not being social enough (which is stupid), or for giving them directions even after the driver asked for directions. Fuck it. Drama. Facebook in a car. I switched to Lyft.
It's not enough to come to work, keep your mouth shut, do your job, make money, and go home. Now people insist on a "pay attention to me" proviso in the work place to make up for what they're not getting in their personal lives. It's ridiculous. Fuck professionalism and just being good at your job. Fuck it all.
Condoms will save the world! As in, use condoms, or ANY kind of birth control for the love of Jesus!
And people wondered why I thought saving/defending animals was more important than humankind? --Really?
Before I died, I started noticing things. Wondering about things. Things in past years slipped my mind without a second thought. Threading a connection as it were. Small things. Amusing things. For the whole of my humble conscientious life, I could never shake this feeling that I was supposed to learn something, do something... more.
Some women, a lot of women were raised to believe, and continue believing, being a wife and mother is all she is meant to be. All she is supposed to be. Antiquated yet respectful as that may be, I wasn't raised that way. My grandmothers were my female role models brief as they were before they died. Teaching me to be a lady was something they coached under the tutelage I behave so only for myself. Pride. Self respect. Not for anyone else. My truest, most heartfelt moments are shared by very few dear to heart friends if anyone else at all. I'm greedy that way I guess.
Writing, for me, was like my artwork. Not meant for "likes" or duplication. I only sold original pieces. Never made copies. From me to you. 1:1. This was the best, most meaningful way for me to be intimate. Unfair to those I slept with. But it's true. Sex meant nothing to me. --Unlike this, which meant everything to me.
Now that I'm dead, with this online literary time capsule, I thee reflect, this is the world I lived in...
While searching pubs and lounges in a nearby neighborhood I found this https://instagram.com/p/BGUTdu7pLJa/
They have a website https://instagram.com/p/BGUTnjipLJu/
More amazingly...
Does that say "coupon" ???
They have coupons ???
And with the end of this blog, this is also my final PST post. And the first post in the new blog... elsewhere.
Thank you for reading.
--Simone Gordon
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