If You’re Not Taking Care Of Yourself, Why Does Anything Matter?

I pray for the apocalypse sometimes.

It’s morbid, I know. But what’s this all for anyway? Things feel hollow most days. Bouts of temporary happiness mixed with repetition and boredom. I suppose that’s why so many of us like zombie and dystopian movies; at least something’s different. At least there’s something to live for.

When I’m out, I often look around and imagine modern-day Vikings. Marauders who come to rape and pillage in the new age and I wince at the horrible things people will do. Can do. Do.

I can fight, I can run, I think. But what about the rest? What about all these people who look perfectly normal, but limp anyway?

Have you noticed it? There seems to be an increasing number of humans, at a much younger age, who limp. God knows the last time they ran, let alone walked without some sort of Detroit lean. And sure, some of them have a legitimate issue they were born with. But they’re the minority. Most have simply let their body disintegrate from the ground up.

If the end of the world hits, and I fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, I’ll most likely die with them, I think. But if I run from whatever lethal force is taking over, they will become the fodder to aide my retreat. What kind of man am I? What kind of man would I be at the end?

These people, theses limpers, who have no reason to be disabled, are relying on the kindness of others. And that doesn’t seem to scare them at all. And I get, I’m talking about a lot more people than just the ones who shuffle about prematurely. But I just don’t get it. What is that pretty SUV really doing for you? Those expensive clothes amount to what? That big house you struggle to walk through serves what purpose? If you’re not taking care of yourself, why does anything matter?

Maybe you’ve worn the wrong shoes for decades, or been injured, or simply let the pounds add up until your ankles cried “NO MORE!” Whatever it is, like so many other things, it can be fixed. And like so many other things, we’re choosing not to. We’re blaming everything else but our bad habits. We’re ordering handicapped stickers and parking closer when walking a few painful miles might be the cure. And we’re hoping that when the day comes, someone who can run, will run to our side.

But will they?