The End of It All

Here I am at work again about to to into a trans staring into a computer screen until my mind gets  blurry and I go into a waking sleep state. 

With all this talk about COVID-19 I am becoming acutely aware of my habits around touching my face/lips/tongue with my hands multiple times during the day.  I have often made mental notes to stop doing that but this hasn't taken me anywhere in terms of avoiding that bad habit.  I think this may be the time to actually make that adjustment.  Of course, as is typical, I don't know how I'm going to do that. 

I remember on Sunday asking my most excellent cuddle partner about how she overcame a habit she described as unhealthy.  After many leading questions it seems like she was inspired to read a book that really helped her to view life more positively.  I see that as a possible lesson that I need to  apply in my life.  I have a book to read as well, the Bible.  I haven't made much progress lately.  I did read a chapter in my spiritual easy book last night on the train ride home.  Ooooohhh, aaaaahhh, Mr Spiritual cries the crowd.  Suddenly forgetting the Gross Sins of the most recent weekend.  "Snap!" a shot rings out the accuracy of which instantly leaves your writer dead while standing, The only remaining body motion is the crumpling to the floor which is handled entirely by the force of gravity and the physical limitations of flexing limbs yet attached to muscles limp with indirection from the now shredded,  pulverized  and hence no longer functioning amygdala. 

Co-workers cower in fear as the assassin escapes.  Only after sufficient time has gone by to ensure reasonable safety.  By such time your writer's head is haloed with a mildly significant but no longer expanding pool of congealing blood mixed with bits of grey matter and other body fluids liberated as the rifle bullet tore through the necessary cranial mass and surrounding tissue.  And so it ends.  Finally this stinking fetid life has come to an end.  God will continue with His plans for the ending of this system of things and the start of the next.  It would be days before anyone is aware of the death of this writer.  And even then there is the obligatory concern, statements of sorrow to the one or two people who loved, at least at some point in time, the man, the coward, the evil doer. 

God's plans for his new system continue no longer encumbered by this piece of business, the permanent elimination of a discovered hypocrite.  More work is yet, but that is beyond the writer's concern.  For in that moment, his thoughts, hopes, dreams for himself and his family including his progeny have all and forevermore perished. 

But in actual fact that didn't happen.  No assassin is interested in the writer.  He doesn't rate that level of attention.