Under the Apollo Sun

Not a great ‘blogger’ as one can clearly see. Tend to write more than I talk though. Don’t read much. Have read so many books in my lifetime that I choose to write, as if my head is filled up with every character, every scenario, that I feel that life is just a repeat of a truly boring sitcom. Nothing new under the Apollo Sun. 37 ways to regurgitate something to fill in our time as human beans, as if our existence is so mundane we can’t create our own story lines & live them out. And then there’s all those ads wedged in there during the in betweens, for those who cannot even attribute themselves to the 8.5 minutes of lameness, which is supposed to be interesting or funny. Wonder if their gnat-like attention spans can even correlate with the Geico lizard’s puns? All they know in the end is that they need some insurance & a cheeseburger.

Yesterday was asked if I believed in ‘passive assisted suicide’? Replied that I did not know what that was. Googled it, just like a millennial does when they forget how to wipe their butt correctly, but still didn’t understand.

Euthanasia, I guess would be a better term for me. Said I get it, but what do you want from me? The person, who will remain nameless for a billion & two different reasons, wants me to help them die.

How would I be able to help you, my friend? Suddenly sounding like a Dr. Kevorkian, or worse even, a Dr. Phil.

I’ll dig a hole, take some pills, wrap a helium balloon around my head, and lay down. All you have to do is bury me. Said I could have their skull. Would be rather bizarre to finally obtain a human skull knowing it was once your friend whom you used to drink beers around the fire pit & shared in depth conversations as we watched the things we love in this world die & turn back to dust around us.

I was actually disturbed, which has become a more difficult task as the grays in my beard take over. Made a joke about the request, saying who’ll be left to bury me then? Reminded me of a scenario of the end of the world was at hand, the zombies had a handful of people who were trapped with enough bullets to kill everyone but a single person, who had the horrific duty of doing them all in. Which one would you wish to be; one of the people to take a bullet, or be left alive only to be savagely killed & eaten in the most heinous of ways imaginable?

“Ah, go take a nap, sleep on it,” I said as convincingly as possible.

“That’s not going to help.”

“I know, just saw it in a sitcom once and felt it needed repeating.”