And finally...
You know what I think is a stupid question? ( And no, it's not asking “Does pineapple belong on a pizza? Or who is your favorite Osmond? Or even “What is a stupid question?” )
It's the question, “What would be your last meal?” because firstly, aside from being a fairly miserable concept, it works on the premise that when you discover you’re going to throw off your mortal coil, that your first inclination will be, “Ooh, time for a snack.”
And secondly, because it's an entirely impossible question to answer, because like, what time of day is this last meal? Say it’s mid-morning. Well then, square sliced sausage, black pudding, and a potato scone - easy. And yes, I would be out of my face on the gluten, but then, who cares?
But say it was Tuesday night after Fish and Bear, well then it would have to be half a Pollo Loco I’d saved from earlier (classy). I mean, I might give you a nod of appreciation for square sliced sausage, and potato scone, etc., but the timing would be off.
Or say I was at my sister’s house. Well, then a cheese and tomato sandwich would be the very dab, or maybe I could get my brother-in-law to make me a steak.
My point is, we each want different things at different times, and there is no set menu on life.
And also by the way, my third point: who's cooking this meal? - Like if it was my Dad’s mother, I'll just have a glass of water, thanks. For as hilarious and fun and snuggly as Nana Fergy was, a cook she was not.
Now you might be thinking to yourself that this is a weird thing to write a Note about, but you know it feels so on point for this week. The reason being that it was my birthday. And also, of course, that the world has been getting a bit on the Rapturey side.
To be honest, this Rapturey thing has had me conflicted. I mean, obviously, I'm not fond of the idea of the end of civilization as we know it, but on the positive side, I did find myself thinking, FINALLY, Nostradamus might have been on to something - I mean, poor guy, it's only taken him 4 or 5 centuries. Though until there's clearly something in his writings about a rapey orange blob with deep psychological issues causing the downfall of humanity, color me unconvinced.
Anyway, on the whole, I feel that my birthday is much more newsworthy because it only happens once a year, whereas this clownfuckery with the orange blob has been pretty much constant since around 2016, and I'm over it. What fucking odious thing he will do next is no longer really a surprise. Lies. Torture. Threats. Rape. Murder. Same old same old. He is a one-trick pony, and he is old news.
And yes, of course, it's not very soothing knowing the man in charge of the red button is a sociopathic lunatic. But there comes a time in your life when you have to stop fretting and be. We’ve all only got a limited amount of days, weeks, and years, and the time he’s taken up in my thoughts is already way overdone.
Really, I genuinely can't believe I've reached the age I am. Though I also can't believe that so many people I have loved are no longer here. I marked the day by doing daft stuff.
The day before my birthday, we went to The Getty - as we always do. And looked at art - as we always do. And I think to myself how many generations existed before me and worried about some douchebag in power causing wars and almost bringing about the end of the world - as they always do. And then I came home and had food and cocktails and felt loved.
Then on my actual birthday, I was surrounded by flowers and gifts and truly good people and I thought to myself, “Well if this really is the last one, this would totally do.”
And I think that’s what I’ve learned. It’s sort of like that line those motivational coaches you always want to punch in the face say, “Live each day like it’s your last.”
What if what I take from this Rapturey-esque period of history is that everything I have around me is only for now? And though the sociopathic orange blob will do what sociopathic orange blobs do, I will not allow myself to get so unsettled that I forget to enjoy what is beautiful.
So this week was my birthday, and next week will be the week after my birthday, and the week after that will be the week after the week after my birthday, and I will take each day as it comes. I will not allow my head to become so full of fear and outrage that there is no room to notice what brings me joy. Because life - even when it’s truly fucking shitty - is still utterly incredible and I don’t want to miss any of it.
It’s why that question ‘What would be your last meal?” is so fucking daft, because it assumes that all the best parts of life have to be behind you rather than in front. And that my friends, is like pineapple on a pizza. It’s all sorts of wrong.
Lynn
Xo
PS: Every time you click on the wee heart emoji, it reminds me how lovely people really are. And yes, that is called emotional blackmail :D
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