what happens when i forget to bring a book

i've been thinking about death a lot the past few days. i'm not saying that to be morbid or creepy, i've just been thinking about what really happens when you die, and realizing my own short mortality, i guess.

i was sitting in a lobby today, next to a woman, and for some reason, as i was looking at the back of her neck, i thought about how each person is a creation, a machine, all its own. the fact that we are comprised of billions upon billions of cells that work together to form one working organism is amazing.

i've been fascinated with the brain for a long time, in part because mine seems to be screwy when it comes to chemical composition and distribution, but also because it determines so much of who we are and how we act. the fact that our personalities, via our brains, determine our responses, actions, reactions? that, my friend, is why i majored in psychology.

i talked to my sister jennifer today, and she said something about our youngest sister, and how she will be lost when our dad dies. that is a thought that i can barely approach without getting upset, because i don't know what i'll do when he dies. i push it away whenever it creeps in.

not to be fatalistic, but to be realistic, no one lives forever. my dad means the world to me, and it's taken a long time for us to get where we are, and for me to realize and appreciate all of his good qualities. to lose him would be the greatest loss of my life, and one i can't comprehend.

when i was looking at that woman's neck, i thought about all of the natural growth and progression of her physical form as she has aged, the freckles and the way little chicken fluff hairs had escaped from her ponytail.

and how someday, she will die, and those freckles will fade, her hair will disintegrate, as will the rest of her, as the machine that is her body comes to a grinding halt.

this is what i was thinking about when i was waiting in line today.

this is why i always take a book...