45 years, and nothing done...

I'm that age when people used to say men were going through a mid-life crisis. In some ways I'm beginning to panic. In 45 years I've almost died twice. I've become disabled. My body is falling apart. But for all that, all my understanding of mortality, the sure knowledge that time is limited, I've accomplished nothing.

I've written nothing, painted nothing, discovered nothing, photographed nothing. I've fathered nothing..I have almost nothing.

I don't see anything from a child's point of view. I don't have children and it's been that long since I was a child that I'm finding it hard, sad, pityfull really to remember my life as a child. I grew up fast. I had to. Things don't excite me like they did. I'm not amazed by much anymore. Except for the lengths humanity will go to; to belittle and kill others. Human cruelty is boundless to be honest. Avoiding bitterness is a chore at this stage.

But soon I'll be alone, whether I'll be alone through leaving or being left behind remains to be seen. I'm fairly sure that I won't be remembered by many, and I'm not relishing either. I've seen the other side and there's nothing there.