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The bells outside are tolling but it’s not a dreary sound.  It’s a gay sound – a beautiful sound, which is dripping with life; with memory; with history.  I feel these strange items inside of my body.  Like bodies or mismatched pieces of muscle all failing to connect up the way they ought to.  I feel the pains in my back when I move like avenues that have been closed off to me; like dead ends that used to be avenues.  I feel my body stopping acting the way it should.  It knows I’ve betrayed it – knows I’ve behaved badly; treated it poorly.  And now it’s suffering at my hands.

The bells outside are ringing with song now.  It reminds me of christmas carols; of winter time and of church and of breath fogging up the air in front of your face.  I know each day is a treasure and yet I waste them eating crisps and watching the internet and wallowing in my comfort.  I don’t take advantage; don’t wring each day for every second’s worth of life like I know I should.

Sometimes I take perverse pleasure in it.  Like a kid that knows it’s doing something naughty and doesn’t care.  It’s short sighted, I suppose, but if this is the only life and if there’s nothing afterwards…  If this is it…  Then it’s all down to how we spent our time; how much we enjoyed how we spent it, and nothing to feel guilty about.

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