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.