Is longevity a curse?

I was at my grandparents’ place just this weekend. You know, just for a quick visit to see how geriatrics go about with their average Sundays, and compare the steady advance of dementia every other week or so.

Went back home thinking about that question: is longevity a curse? Are people supposed to still be walking around past a certain age? Or, to put a finer point on it, maybe people should be given the ability to “opt out” after their quality of life goes below a certain point. Maybe my grandparents should opt out. Maybe my dad, gods bless him, should opt out as well. For that matter, maybe I should opt out.

There’s a very strong and overwhelmingly valid reason why I don’t tell many people about this blog, why I don’t share it on my Facebook feed so that people can like and comment (though, you have to admit masturbating your ego does feel good every now and then).

So yeah, is there some sort of inflection point when life just doesn’t really have anything new or exciting to offer you anymore and you just have to unplug? I’m aware that right now is the best time to be alive, more so than at any other point in human history. We’ve got 24 hour food delivery, fresh fruits imported from half way across the globe, a variety of music and movies for basically any taste and preference. This world, much wow. We’ve got international flights so cheap it’s painful not to buy tickets. Hell, if you have a smart phone and reasonable internet connectivity, you’ve literally got the sum total of all human knowledge available in the palm of your hand. Oh! And porn!

There’s absolutely no reason for anyone right now to say that they’re bored, to complain that there’s nothing new, or feel that there’s nothing to excite them. Or is there?

Both my grandparents, and my dad (who, as luck would have it, is older than either of my mother side grandparents… it’s a weird situation… buy me a beer and ask me in person) have lived reasonably full lives, I would like to think.

My grandfather is German; he was a member of the Deutsche Jungvolk, aka the Hitler Youth movement, but lived through the War and somehow ended up in Australia where he started a new life… away from the evil Jews.

My grandma has been married at least 4 times, possibly 6 times. But as far as meine opa is concerned (and the rest of the family is only so eager to live up to the emotional fiction), she’s only been married once, to my biological grandfather, gods damn him. She had 6 children. Imagine that! Imagine having 6 largish watermelons pop out of your vagina. Eventually, she managed to shag her way to Australia where she found Opa, and they got married. That was her scam, that was her hustle, that was her grift. Don’t judge.

Anyway, my grandmother has probably sucked more dick than the average 2017 co-ed. The running joke that I like reminding everyone during big family gatherings is that just about everyone at the dinner table is alive because Lola shagged. A lot.

Thankfully, Opa and Lola are really hard of hearing now.

My dad was born in another country, and moved here with his family. He lost his own dad when he was still young, and had to work his arse off to feed everyone else. At one point, according to personal legend (there are no other records to corroborate this story, but just stick with it anyway), he was selling inner tubes after the war, and had to bring a shipment from one island to another. Unfortunately, the ferry carrying him and his wares blew a hole, and started sinking. He inflated the tyres and started charging people for the pleasure of using them as flotation devices. Yes, he charged people for the privilege of not drowning. And THEY swam HIS cargo to safety, where he then proceeded to deflate the tyres and still sell the lot for a profit.


Anyway, yeah, the point is, they’re old, and they had a lot of adventures. The Lola is getting on quite a bit. She’s gone senile, and physically frail. One of the uncles got her a wheel chair, but of course, she managed to fight them off and only started using the god damned char about 2 weeks after. Meine Opa is still taking care of her. For better or for worse, that was the promise… and I can only describe the whole process as “painful”.

Imagine being very old yourself, basically disintegrating right before your very eyes, and still having to take care of someone else. Having to wash their arse after each poop. Having to wipe clean that vajayjay that you used to enjoy for strictly other purposes. Having to listen to the same complaints and decades old grievances that only one person can now still recall because everyone else is either dead or a fossil hooked up to life support. And he has to pay for all that shit.

I’d shit myself if that were in the cards for me. If ever I do decide to get married, I’m going to have that special chick read this blog post and tell me what they think about mutual incontinence.

I’d rather just die.

There’s a point in life where the marginal benefit to one person of existing another day, let alone another year is simply not enough to weight against the pain of everyone else who has to take care of that person. Unless of course they get paid to do it.

Which is what my dad does. I think. I’m not sure either, but I know that he still pees while standing up. The aim is way, way off, but the ol’ prostate still works. So at least I’ve got that to look forward to.

Anyway, again, there’s a point at which people should just kill themselves right? Unless you still have much to live for, I suppose. But even Michael Jordan had to retire at some point.

Yay! Porn streaming into my smart phone! Yay! Sum total of human existence! Yay!