So the cycles starts again, but this time when you notice it, there is a new feeling. Fear.

What if it comes for me? Oh shit, what if this happens to me?

Oh FUCK. What if this happens to me!?

So, you’re not thinking much about this sun’s cruel journey because a good part of you is sitting in the corner sucking your thumb and holding a blanket, possibly over your head, and whimpering.

What are we if we are not our minds and our memories? If our mind is gone, do we exist? When we lose the ability to reason, to recall, to remember, to desire… Well, then what are we?

And so you ride that crashing wave into middle age and there is this huge anvil falling from the sky and its right above you but it might miss you. Probably it will miss you. Maybe. It’s missed some people, certainly. But when it hits, it hits with the hammer of the gods, and theres’ nothing you can do about it but… die. Eventually. Slowly.

You won’t die right away. No, that would be too simple. Instead, everything that makes you you is stripped away, torn down, ripped apart, shattered and destroyed in front of everyone you know. All that is left of your life is tatters and detritus, devoid of meaning.

“Who is that pretty lady?”

“That’s your wife.”

“Oh? I was married? Who are those boys?”

“Those are your grandchildren.”

“Is that one Bill? He looks like Bill.”

“No, Bill died 50 years ago. That’s Tom.”

“Who’s Tom? Bill? Is that you? Come over here Bill.”