Lately it's occurred to me how quick days go by. Monday means it's almost Sunday. This, combined with reading Fight Club, made me realize all the things I should be doing. I've started a list of things to do. It's already almost next year. You're already almost done forgetting the mistakes you haven't made yet. You're already almost done with the art project you haven't thought of yet. The kids you haven't parented? Almost grown. The bones you haven't broken yet are almost mended. A second is no longer a blink. A day hardly registers. Years? Up before you even think about how you broke your New Year's resolution. That blink? It's a lifetime. Life is zoomed back, blown out, disfigured, pixelated. You look at it all in one glance, swallow it in one unsatisfying gulp. I want to stretch further. I don't want to just reclaim the things I have lost in my life. I want to stretch further. I want to do what I haven't. The bruises I don't have are almost healed. Who cares if Icarus flew too high and melted his wax wings. Maybe he would have died anyway. We can't take it with us. We are already corpses, maggot food, dust. We are the fossils waiting to be dug up.

You are almost dead. Maybe you already are.