When I was very small, I was terrified of dying and what followed afterward. I remember I often could not sleep from thinking about the big empty nothingness that lay before me. I was an emo back when it used to mean something.
As I got older, rather than confronting the inevitability of it all I chose to remain distracted and I stayed distracted for a long time but as I get older still I think I’m finally taking those few tentative steps on my way to coming to terms with it. Perhaps through realising our own mortality we all experience the seven stages of grief stretching out over our entire lifetime. A poignant observation perhaps, but hard to take seriously because of the pig glued to my bottom.