One of the things that has sort of bothered me lately, and especially since I got married, is the notion of my own mortality. Personally, I believe when I die, that’s it, nothing left. And yeah, that’s depressing as shit, but it’s what I believe. This never really bothered me so much until I realized I had someone to spend the rest of my life with. The last few days I’ve been thinking about it more than usual; we’ve been able to spend some really good times together lately that have led me to be pretty freaked out about what would happen if I die, or if she died, and which would be worse. On the one hand, if I died, I’d never see or touch or hear her again. But I’d be dead, so I wouldn’t know the difference. On the other, if she died, I’d have to live without her, which is pretty unimagineable right now. If I had to choose which of us would live, it would be a tough choice. I wouldn’t want her to die, obviously, but I know how messed up I’d feel if she died and wouldn’t want to put her in that situation. I guess I can take solace in the fact that I’ll probably never be in that position.

A few years ago, I didn’t even think I was capable of feeling certain emotions, let alone some as strongly as I do with Ivona. I feel now that no matter what happens in life, I have a partner to face everything with. I guess these fears of death or worrying about things is my way of being cautious. Life seems so great and perfect around her that I’m almost psyching myself up for the impending fall. Who knows, we may end up living to 90 and having successful, happy lives, but one of us is going to die first. Maybe Alzheimer’s isn’t such a tragic disease at all… Sure, it’s tragic for those around you, but it probably makes dying a hell of a lot easier if you can’t remember their names or anything about them.

I had a dream the other night, that I was in another country and was kidnapped and tortured. It became clear that I was going to die, and worse than the pain or that knowledge was the feeling that I wouldn’t see Ivona again. Stuff like that freaks me out more than anything I’ve ever thought about or worried about before. I used to have those thoughts about my twin brother, Alex, and still do from time to time, but I’ll admit marriage changes your focus a little bit. (Sorry Alex, you have to share the number one spot for favorite person in my book these days.)

I’m sure it’s just a temporary thing and I’ll stop thinking about it so much soon. Maybe writing about it will help put my mind at ease. I think I just need to tell myself that thinking about it now isn’t going to do any good. I don’t think that thinking about death at 24 is going to do much in the way of preparing me for when the time comes.

Anyway, sorry to be so morbid. Next post will have kittens and rainbows, I promise.

Ivona said tonight that she likes when I write blog entries because it’s like a window to my inner thoughts that I don’t normally vocalize or go out of my way to share. I realized that’s largely true, and not necessarily because I don’t want to share things with her, but when I don’t write it’s almost like I don’t even think about things too deeply, or analyze my own feelings. Writing is the only way I know how to figure things out, of being truly introspective. The only time I really felt like that without having to write to get at it was when I was living in France; being in a place where you don’t really speak the language at first forces you to be pretty introspective. Oddly enough, I did some of my best writing (the non-introspective kind) when I was there. It’s part of the reason I want to go back so badly.

This lack of passion and feeling of being unfulfilled and unsure of goals and direction impacts my writing pretty heavily. Instead of writing fun, interesting, humorous (I hope) things, it’s all introspective, personal junk. It’s great for me, because I feel like I’m getting at the things that are eating up my subconscious, but at the same time I still feel stagnated and like there’s a shroud over me, preventing me from thinking up any good material.

Who knows, maybe I’m just bored and I need more going on in my life to inspire me. I was looking forward to, and am enjoying aspects of, this break between semesters, but I’m realizing I need that stimulation every day to get the creative juices flowing (sorry if I get any on you, I’m pretty awful at controlling my juices). I can’t wait to have a busy schedule and challenging classes again, because now I’m just imagining all the things I want to do with my life instead of actually doing them. I want to finish this last semester and just leave. I’m not sure where yet. I want an adventure. Or a job. That’d be ok, too.