death by cotton

tomorrow my nephew turns 9. i was 14 when we was born, and i have no recollection what 14 felt like anymore. on the phone yesterday my mom sounded exactly like my grandmother used to: she kept interrupting me because she thought she knew what i was going to say, or else she just couldn't really hear. i've been out of high school for a decade.

on monday i was sitting on the red line subway with my sunglasses on and my ipod in. i wasn't in a bad mood by any means, just in the post-work zone out. i was listening to grizzly bear's veckatimest for the second time. something about the music, the motion of the train, the way i had isolated myself in this sea of people, it all led me to thinking about death. in the time it took to go from the chicago stop to the north/clybourn stop, i felt more alarmed about dying than i had in a long time. i used to say i wasn't afraid to die, and i think that was true. i also don't think i was looking it square in the eyes.

this morning, when walking to the el, there were thousands of the those little cottony things that come from who knows where this time of year. there were so many it looked like it was snowing, and i was admiring the beauty of the feathery wisps and marveling at this snow scene in june when all of the sudden one of those little fuckers flew directly into my eye!
that's what i imagined death to be like the other day on the train.