A Rare Moment Of Sincerity On My Birthday
A rare moment of sincerity on my birthday. Don’t worry I won’t make a habit of it. But this comic and blog have become something of a diary for me so sometimes I like to share my thoughts. Bear with me a bit.
It will be my birthday for just another thirty minutes and can I be honest? I hate my birthdays. When I was younger I thought I would grow old with grace and dignity. Turns out I’m growing old one bitter and resentful day at a time.
Today I’m thirty-nine years old and I get to stare age forty in full in the face for a full year. Less than awesome. I hate it with a fiery hate.
The problem for me with getting older is that I am PAINFULLY aware of my own mortality. One day and sooner than I would like I am going to go the way of all flesh and the conquering worm will have me. (Don’t be a perv, that’s not a euphemism). And then what will happen? I cannot in all honesty say that I know for sure. I certainly hope something happens as I find the idea of a permanent end to my existence painful and unbearable. I always have.
If you don’t find the idea of what happens to you after you die a subject of concern then you are probably either too young to think about it, deluded, or not terribly bright. Because I got news for you, you’re gonna die too one day.
There are all sorts of philosophies that tell us what happens to us after death, often the results of the after life are based upon our behavior while we are all alive. I’m not here to bore you with a religious discussion. My little webcomic is NOT the venue for cranky people to shout at each other in a war of “My unprovable theory is better than your unprovable theory.”
Those arguments are pointless to me as I don’t think I’ll ever truly know what happens to me after death till I eventually croak. And then I’ll bet you anything that if I find the answer I’ll never be able to tell anybody one way or the other. Nobody would believe me anyway.
Basically what I’m trying to say is that I hate my birthdays. I hate them because they remind me I’m going to die one day and I admit that I’m afraid of that. I admit that I have no answers, just a few hopes that I’ll never be able to prove. I think that that is partly why I have such a fascination with ghosts, zombies, and other macabre monstrosities. For me it’s very much my ultimate fears made manifest.
It’s now midnight, my birthday is over. I am now 39+ years old and I’m questioning whether I should post this at all. Historically the internet seams to be where honest sincerity goes to be crushed by the massive weight of asshat trolls with chips on their shoulders.
No I’ll post it, I don’t delete the other dumb stuff I say. This shouldn’t be any different.