It's tough to be immortal yet still live a linear existence. You see people come and go in the same way dandelion seeds spread across the expanse of a field in the equivalent of a single breath. Immortality means you're always alone, even when you're not. Because, no one understands what it's like to be orphaned by the living. Or, to live through a 17-hour surgery wide-awake, as you watch brain matter and blood splatter on the blue sheet covering your face...then, to the amazement of your surgeons, get up on your own and walk away. Or rather, limp away. Later, a doctor has the audacity to tell you you're going to die in two years. The absurdity of that linear thought makes you laugh. That same laughter echoes twenty years into the future...a future you met so you could meet love. And, greet love. Over and over and over again...ad infinitum, but not ad nauseum. The few moments where love seemed real in the past now pale in comparison. Eleven is a very lucky number after all. Maybe one day, I'll be lucky enough to see love reflected back at me for more than just a few hours...maybe.
Fuck. I live for that day. When one is infinite, there is no awareness of anything but infinity. It's simple. Beautiful. Dignified. And, all consuming. A lot like love, actually...but not as fulfilling. More akin to floating in the ocean. You just exist, upheld by the cohesive fabric of a buoyant Universe.
Being formidable's not all it's cracked up to be. Neither is being a woman,. In the meantime, I am a woman, a formidable one. Always amazed at how others treat me as a result of my perceived gender. The expectations are so high for the fairer sex. People feel betrayed simply because you exist, persist, resist. Angry that you laugh. Furious at your smile. Jealous of both. Even other women will come to hate you. Of course, that may have more to do with immortality. At some point, folks recognise that you're not exactly aging.
"Pretty" is never pretty....
Cars were spinning out left and right on the road in front of me. White-out conditions in the Berkshires. Several vehicles flew into ditches like two-ton Frisbees, their drivers looking understandably stunned. And yet, I was able to drive on, unfettered. A red pick up with the numbers "2622" on its license plate slid in front of me on a slice of spacetime. I pulled into a gas station shortly thereafter to fill my tank and there it was. A lottery sign that read, "$226-million." I should have probably played! But when you're immortal, money is a meaningless concept. There is no race to the finish line because, well, there is no finish line.
All that remains when you take Death out of the equation is LOVE. Oh, and tits, too. Tits don't go anywhere. Which is a good thing. Because, neither am I....