I woke up today still jazzed that oldold man Finn and I actually decided to roadtrip from the Gulf of Mexico to the Atlantic Ocean and back. How many times does that get to happen?
I woke up today ready to write about the mushroom clouds of smoke and the apocalyptic haze we drove through as the sugar cane fields burned around us.
But as I woke up today I found oldold man Finn passed out on his La-Z-Boy. He had an upset stomach and said he went to bed with a bit of a chill. He talked with a bit of a drawl…
And after a couple yawns his cadence returned.
After another nap he had more of a pep in his step. He thinks he’s going to go biking since it’s finally nice weather (~ 72 degrees) and that we’re still going to dinner and the Florida Gulf Coast University game tonight.
“Where are our seats tonight?”
“In the gym.”
But I couldn’t help but be concerned.
When do you tell the oldold man to ease up? Or do you?
Is it better to wear yourself out doing something you love or better to hold back and live to fight another day?
This is actually the initial question I explore on my Book of Blues Prequel. The repercussions of the situation are reverberated throughout the Prequel, Book of Blues and, eventually, the Sequel.
It was life imitating art imitating life.
I felt like I was living two nightmares and I didn’t know if I was creating the chaos. But that’s probably me giving myself too much credit. Either way, I need to realize I couldn’t think objectively at that point.
I still don’t know the answer. And that concerns me.
And in the end, I don’t know whether or not it was a good thing. Maybe it’s good to push a little if it brings the memories along with it. Maybe I’m selfish, concerned about tomorrow and making sure he’s a part of it.
Maybe life isn’t about longevity so much as it is about the footprint you leave behind.
Even if you wake up in the morning feeling a little closer to death.
Either way, I’m the one that’ll have to deal with the tomorrows.