Over the past couple years I have spent a lot of thought and energy at trying to get to the bottom of my profound melancholia.

Is it because I'm virtually unemployable? Nope, that doesn't really bother me as I wouldn't hire somebody like me either. In fact, if a perspm were to offer me a job I would assume that they are suffering from a stroke and immediately call 911.

Does my sadness stem from some sort of deficiencies in vitamins or other essential mineral that my brain requires to maintain emotionally balanced? No. That's not it either. I have experimented with just about every type of over-the-counter antidote for my perpetual blues with no real success. Unless, of course, you would consider it a success that I've taken so many supplements that I've seemingly forever changed the color of my urine into something that resembles radioactive sludge.

The solution to my malaise came to me recently when I started dumping out a container of expired milk down my kitchen sink. I've spoiled. I'm here on Earth well past my self-imposed expiration date...and I have no plan what to do next.

I never expected to live this long. For most of my life I had convinced myself that I would be dead by 40. It's not that I wanted to die or that I thought I was living a James Dean rock and roll lifestyle that would put me in the ground before my fourth decade of mouth breathing. Rather, My belief that I would have an early exit from this organic party we call life was based on my family history of exploding hearts which was also coupled with a ridiculous guttural feeling that at some point in my life I would be involved in a freak accident that would become the lead story on cable news.

The tagline for my demise would read like the following:



Teenage boy struck by lightning and hit by space debris at same time. Explodes like melon.

Short man eaten by previously extinct dinosaur.

Gary Busey shoots Wyoming man in the crotch 14 times.

Denver Broncos lose another Super Bowl, John Roedel dies from acute grief syndrome.

Robot apocalypse begins with young Cheyenne resident being strangled in his sleep by a gang of Super Nintendos.




I never planned on living past 40 and my entire life up until now is direct evidence of that. What was the point of having a ton of life plans when I would be checking out early? I have lived life under the impression that everything is very temporary. Which, is a nice way of saying that I didn't treat my life or where I was going with much respect. I didn't take my education seriously. I haven't treated the relationships (other than my family) in my life with much care at all - and Dear God, if I am supposed to honor my body like a temple it should be called the "High Fructose Center of Deep Fried Enlightenment".

There is very little in my life that I have nutured for the long term because I've been convinced that my date with The Reaper was going to take place in the early afternoon of my life.

Recently I went to the doctor (for the first time in a couple presidential terms) to get some confirmation on my impending death.

Turns out that I'm actually pretty healthy and that my family history of faulty hearts has yet to manifest itself inside me.

"Your levels and heart functions look fairly normal" the doc said.

I gulped like I had just heard the reverse.

What in the hell do I do now? I have no plan for life after 40. Had I known that I wasn't going to die young I might have made better choices in my 20's and 30's. Baring any kind of wild animal attack or run in with Gary Busey it appears that I'm going to be here for a bit.

The more I have thought about it, the rain cloud of somber feelings I've been living under is coming from the fact that I have no idea what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I have no long term plans or goals. I've never really needed ambition before. Ambition was for the folks who were going to be around for a normal life cycle. I thought I was scheduled for an early departure.

Shit, now I'm going to need more money. How am I'm going to pay for my futuristic laser prostate surgery when I'm 67?

Most people live their life recklessly because they think they are immortal. I've done the exact opposite. I've live recklessly because I thought I'd be gone by now.

Now, I have to start writing a second act to what I thought was my one act play.

Good thing I like improv...because I'm going to have to make things up as I go along.