I’ve spent a month or so with very poor health and plenty of time to be sober and introspective. What have I gleaned from this time? Two things.
1. No one else will ever care as much as I do or in the same way as I do about the idiosyncratic minutia that bothers me the most about this largely pointless mortal coil.
2. No one, not even our sainted mothers cared all that much about the stupid drawings pinned to the refrigerator until it was safe to dispose of them or leave them to yellow in a family album.
Every single one of us will die wishing we had been kinder to others and that they had all done so in kind. Every single, fucking, one of us will die wishing someone was as proud of our little victories as everyone was equally saddened by our larger defeats.