I've been saying that more and more, lately. Walking past the computer, and just saying 'screw it', and moving on. And as my life slips away, I fear it is taking my intellect with it, bit by nearly imperceptible bit. I just want to sit on the couch and pet a kitten, and watch cartoons.
My memory is fading, and lately I have developed the alarming habit of reacting to things I dreamt the night before, during the next day, as if they were real. Realistic, but not real, I keep telling myself. I have asked the wife to keep an eye on me for that crap, and treat pretty much everything I say with suspicion. It is very weird continuing a conversation you thought you had the day before, when in actuality you had it that night, in your sleep.
At some point, I may ending up unloading all of my guns, and giving them to her for safe keeping. All of my weapons, for that matter.
Blood runs out of my nose whenever it wants to, and I vomit at least once a day. Or more. And as I type, sometimes the letters put themselves where they want to, and I have to really settle down and edit myself. And I just shake my head at the childish errors.
This is not me, and I am only staying around because the wife won't let me go. When I sense she is prepared for me to go, I am gone. Watching myself rot around me is more than I choose to bear, except for her, I will.
I believe in an Afterlife, though what form it will take, I have no idea. And I will leave on a wake of terror, driven by the boatman, terror for what might happen to my family once I'm gone. The wife already feels that terror, and is clutching at my tattered soul to keep me here.
Let go, honey...just let go...