About me, that’s supposed to be. Age snuck up on me quickly and I don’t handle it well. I got ambushed.

I will die. It doesn’t frighten me because I feel I will be going home. But not getting done what I should have done, and want to do, does frighten me. Especially because it’s guaranteed I’ll fail.

In fact, my whole life is a failure. Too idealistic. Too strenuously focused on working hard for those ideals. Absolutely stupid. As a consequence, I live in a garden shed without the garden (others call these tin sheds “cabins”) in a caravan park run by the owner’s son who’s arrogant and deems himself to be a law unto himself. Everything inherited and given to him by his dad. Arrogance and ignorance are a terrible combination.

And then I think it is in here that I might die. Or go blind. A lifetime of effort leaving a corpse for someone to clean up. Sorry about that.