Rockefellers | Writing Spool

“I’m so angry that we all have to die,” she said.
“I know. Me too,” her friend replied.
“People have children early enough that they don’t realize what they are doing to the poor child. Why start something that will just end? Oh, of course, life is wonderful — but that is the point I’m trying to make. You finally get going really good and feel like you have a handle on things and have figured out what you love — and boom — suddenly your body stops working right. You try to dance and bones creak and collapse without warning. Things aren’t easy. Jars are harder to open and sure, you figure out a way around it — but when will come the day you can’t even make the new way work? You start looking out for that day even though you try your best not to. You realize that chocolate and sugar can kill you. You start eliminating things that are pleasurable so you can extend life just a little while longer. And then you regret that you didn’t do it sooner and wonder if the sacrifices will really work. Where was the help for that when you needed it? Now the information is available but a little too late to use much for keeping disease at bay. DNA quits working. It’s like a thing — designed to fail. What’s with that!! Who can get DNA to behave. Can you? Makes you want to just say fuck it all and eat the damned chocolate.”
Her friend just kept listening knowing she was sorrowful and needed a space to rant and vent.
“I know,” her friend said again.
“I used to always say, when I was young, that when I got old I would sit around in a rocking chair eating chocolates and smoking cigarettes. Now that I’m older I don’t want to sit still for a minute because it might only be a minute that is left to sit or do anything — who would know — certainly I don’t. I’m scared every night and wake up in the middle of trying to sleep thinking I’ve quit breathing. I’m surprised when I wake up in the morning. I’m afraid to eat alone for fear I’ll choke. I’ve never felt that fear before. When you’re young, you just don’t know.”
“I’ve spent my whole life trying to get things just so-so so that I would have what I need to survive and be happy. What’s the point of having everything you need when there is no more time to enjoy it? I got all the tools to garden. Now some of them are rusty and certainly battery operated things fail quickly, electrical ones too. Nothing lasts so you finally realize that it is better to just pull the darned weeds out with your bare hands and that spending money on any of those useless things was wasteful and what better things you could have done with all that money like buying hand tool that could just be sharpened. But hands aren’t much good by that time either because by the time the electric trimmer fails and you decide to do everything by hand, your hands quit working too. Then it becomes time to just let everything grow as it pleases and in the end, you come to the conclusion that that was probably the best way all along.”
“Fuck this shit!” she was really angry now. “What was the point of any of it? All these things I’ve made and all these things I’ve learned how to do. For what! For what!!? The only thing good in life is to sit and stair at ants — ants just do what they need to do and keep on marching. Do you think an ant ever worries that someone will snuff it’s life out without warning?”
“The Rockefellers and Rothschilds have it all and what do they really have? Nothing. Nothing. Nothing worth a shit because as soon as they get it all they’re just as dead as anyone else and what have they really left for anyone who comes behind them — mounds of cash too tall to scale? What was the point? Wars, senseless sickening wars so that they could have it all. Fuckers.”
Her friend didn’t like the cussing and she knew it but she needed to say it just the same.
“I guess I’m just mad because it’s hard to think about all the good times now. Especially since all the good-times-people are gone and I can’t remember any of it with them.”
She settled back and took a breath and another sip of coffee.
“I’ll feel altogether different come tomorrow, I sure hope.”
Hope. She was remembering that that is a thing you can pretend might help. Change the channel. Maybe spring will help. Maybe a move. Maybe, maybe, maybe she’ll wake up young again and will forget that she got old. Not much chance of that, she thought. What good is reincarnation if you don’t remember anything? She also thought. A dogs life. If only things could be like they are in movies. She would go and watch a movie and forget that she might not wake up again tomorrow.
“You want to have lunch tomorrow,” she asked her friend. “Let’s think of ways to cheer ourselves back up.”
Her one and only friend said, “Okay.”