Age brings with it many intangibles, one of them is the fear that you will give up, that there just isn’t any point to trying, or that it is just too late. I have worried about that. But more so I’ve worried that the voices in my head will tell me I’m too good to simply struggle and “dying nobly” is the only option. Or if not nobly than at least self-satisfyingly. Sure. Holding my breath until I turn blue is an option, one that I’ve tried to various levels before. But what does that give you?

It gives you nothing but self-esteem.

The larger issue here is how long should one put up before one throws in the towel? How long do you hide from those you used to know because you’re not “finished” yet?

I deserve some time off. I really do. Maybe everybody who reaches middle age feels this way, which is why we often act out in juvenile ways by having affairs and buying expensive toys. All this stuff is there in my head, but it’s there because I just want to feel good and feel like me again, like the person I was before I was responsible. You can only have so much of life. You need stupid, wasted time. Desperately.

No medication can ever do it. Only one thing will make that happen. I throw up my hands and beg the gods or curse them. Like Conan the Barbarian.

I need it.

More than want it.