Threatening and Heedful

I think about dying when my Dad died. I think about it all the time. He was forty-five when he went dead and so now I have the feeling it'’s going to go that way for me too. Since I was 14 and seriously bereaved, the idea has persistently occurred to me; dead at 45, or ‘'by'’— --- probably 'at' though.

I certainly don’'t like this sort of dangerous prophesy. “"You’'re not your father"”, "“don'’t be unreasonable”", “"you shouldn'’t think about it",” the advice goes. I know it. But it’'s a gut thing, not a rational thing I'’m trying to concentrate on (except perhaps at this very instance ---—writing). Usually it’'s a ghastly and sporadic feeling that just grows in me and after five minutes or so, that dread turns into actualization: "‘Oh yeah, I’'m gonna die when I’m forty-five’", and after this realization I can walk straight or whatever it is that I wish to do.

I’'m getting older and I often day-dream; sometimes even 'bout the "marriage" topic, not necessarily cuz I want to get married, more like, “"Wow, I’'m getting old, maybe I should get a dog and a house and shit the bed— --- a family."” But then I realize, wait a minute, marriage would be like signing the contract that says I will surely die at 45. I follow my father’s footsteps too closely already as it is (merciless genetics) but to follow it in any other facet would be tentatively scheduling a middle-aged cancer-suicide.

Sometimes I think my father died because he was unhappy, unhappy because he had such a shit life, and the majority of it is directly related to his striving to put up with family demands, whether they'’re financial or parental or romantic; especially at times when his heart told him to fuck everything, stop everything, and find that selfish happiness that is only a heartbreak away. But long ago he signed that matrimonial sheet which rendered his own concerns null and void ---and so he lived, everyday, the way he had to, trying harder some days to please what he could please, and other times feeling more apathetic or aggressive and making mistakes, miserable mistakes. Most of this frustration internalized by and exuding from my Father was from a man who felt trapped and undermined by what he was told must be. Me.

So I can’t help but feel that if I make any sort of contractual agreement that tethers my life to a momentarily compassionate instant(lovey-dovey cock-hard proposal) then I'’ll essentially be agreeing to death at 45 (Not saying that that threatening and heedful agreement is forever out of the question).