the man is old, unhealthy and just sickly looking. he can no longer take care of himself. his wife does nearly everything. the fire department just arrived. it freaks me out everytime. the RV park is full of weekenders. i really hope they don't bring him out on a stretcher or anything. they seem to show up once or twice a month. because he has trouble breathing and had a heart attack a few months ago that kicked his ass. i never want to be like that. i try and eat healthy and exercise. if he dies while still next door.. i'll be creeped out because he sits all day in the window seat that is about 7 feet away from me. i can look out my window and see him just sitting there.
will do. does anyone wanna send a message to a dead loved one? maybe i could slip them into his pocket.
i don't have any cookies. (i've got a 4yr old, you really think cookies last long around here?) his wife is a sweet lady. she takes good care of him.. well as good as she can. he looks to be about 80something and she looks like she's about 50.
Yeah I'm waiting for my next/last wife to be born, she'll take care of me when I'm 80. Hey, a handy once a week and you get all my stuff. Good deal, huh?
Let me tell you a secret, dude: We're all going to die . . . . everybody here and everywhere! Do you know any exceptions? Read a little Heiddeger or Kierkegaard . . . .
i do.. him and his wife. he'll tell you the same thing.. he's gonna die soon. i know everything dies.. but it really hits home when it's right next door and it's a waiting game.
Funny how things turn out. I'm 61 and thought my parents were going to die every day for the last 40 years. But Mom is in a rest home at 84, and Dad is still driving his Lincoln at 95! When I had open-heart surgery, I wished I had died before it ever came to that horrible experience, but now I feel pretty good, and enjoy a lot about life. I'm ready to go anytime. Really doesn't bother me. I'm semi-religious, a sort of "theistic existentialist" like Kierkegaard and Jaspers. The Death Angel can visit me anytime. It is, I'll admit, pretty grim when, like my Mom, you can't hold your shit, but whatever it takes, the end is always the same . . . .
In 25 years, when my new wife turns 21 and she marries me for my vast worldly possessions, I hope she has eyes and feet like you though.