Life is Life

I was not at all shocked or surprised or saddened by the news of the death of Michael Jackson.  This was not because I found the man distasteful (which is true) or because I disliked most of his music (which is also true) but because it has no impact whatsoever on my life.  And even if it did, I would not particularly care.

I think the real reason I am so flippant and uncaring about the subjects of death and dying is that I do not value life.  It is hard to feel or even to simulate concern or sympathy over someone’s untimely demise (which is a redundant saying because no one ever dies at a convenient time) when I rarely feel concern in the first place, and as I have no qualms about my own death it seems foolish to agonize over anyone else’s.

And I’m quite serious about that last part.  I fully intend to squeeze as much out of life as I can, but if I were to be struck by a meteorite and dealt a mortal blow I have a feeling my last thoughts would be something along the lines of “well, it was fun while it lasted.”  Death is much less frightening to me than many aspects of life.  Why would anyone want to go through decades of pain and deteriorating health and poor mental functions?  If I make it to my sixtieth birthday, I will have either gone through a complete mental shift or else done something very, very wrong.

Fatalistic?  No, not really, especially since it very well might be by my own hand.  As soon as my mind starts to go, or even sooner if I deem it necessary, I will gladly join in on a pick-up game of Russian Roulette.  It’s the same tactic I use in games of strategy and chance – if you play to lose, you’ll always win.

But this post is not supposed to be about my repressed suicidal tendencies.  Death is a source of puzzlement to me, especially other people’s reactions to it.  I am not vain enough to say that my views are misunderstood, as there is little that can be misinterpreted about what I’ve put here, but I will say that I seem to be in the minority, and my tendencies to verbally tear apart the recently deceased is far from what is considered acceptable.

This is something on which I cannot – and I mean physically and mentally cannot – compromise.  In the event of a tragedy, you’ll get hollow and overused clichés from me, and I’ll certainly attempt to appear concerned and sympathetic, but we both know it’s a lie.  I do what I must to get through a given situation, and if murmuring meaningless words that carry no emotional significance will help, then that’s what I’ll do.  Just don’t expect anything more, because I cannot and will not try to give it.