Like any decent philosopher or religionist, I think often of dying. I hate the very thought of it. The loss of everything. Of feelings and thoughts and hopes and of everything still left undone.
When I think about these things, I’m filled with a love and fascination for everything. Sunlight shining just so through the window is beautiful. A pebble, polished from a thousand years of rolling down a river bed is a thing of wonder that can stop me in my tracks. I think of taking naps with the girls or of driving to Virginia and going to a baseball game with the kids. I want to lay around for the day with my wife, reading and watching lousy TV. I forgive everyone for everything. I forgive myself.
And then. Then. I’m at work and have a report to read and approve, and I can’t access it. There’s a computer glitch on a server in another state that keeps me from loading this thing. My morning is ruined, and I’m feeling bitchy. And that light shining through the window? It’s not so beautiful now, and it hurts my eyes. People irritate me.
Maybe I’m the only one? Tell me. Just how stupid is this?