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I face the end of my life with waxing and waning anticipation. This is nowhere near as severe as it was before medication.
I am within a decade and a half of the expiration dates of my parents. My own demise, and those of my seniors, occupy much of my thought. I find myself often composing eulogies, for myself and others.
I have reproduced. I have one apparently healthy child, and another who lives in obvious torment. Our relationships are fraught. Too many recollections of my many parental failures fuel the spectral apprehensions that flit across their faces. If there is a hell after this, it cannot scare me.
My life is largely meaningless. When compared to the apparent potential I once had, I have failed.
I am in a continuing unsuccessful marriage to a parter both ideally and horribly suited to me.
This planet is being bought out by sociopaths who feel that wealth beyond their ability to enjoy is a worthy goal. It is populated by idiots who feel they should endorse that which is most base. The planet’s environment and climate are under ceaseless attack, fomented by the wealthy and tolerated - nay, enabled - by idiots. Economics, a fundamental expression of culture, is exploited to ravage planetary resources at the expense of those who live here.
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