Feeling depressed and paranoid.

I have an appointment today and somehow the thought of a draft is in my head, you know, that kind young men get before they are called out to war. Somewhere in the future we all face the Grim-faced fella leaning on his scythe, that guy calling our names like a herdsman, like a nightmare version of The Pied Piper of Hamelin. I know, this is paranoia and like painting the walls with catastrophes and bad premonitions. But what can I say, it gets me rambling and hoping my time ain’t running out sooner then I’d expected (don’t we all expect to live until our kids put us in the old folks home?). Most probably it’s nothing at all, but when you sit there waiting, not knowing, it’s like hell, like being in purgatory, in the limbo hoping to be sent out with a leave of absence slip in your hands. A deep voice, stereotypic like a bad comedy says “Not yet,” and the door closes as cold hands push you onto the doorstep.

Well, I might be overdramatic and seeing devils in every shadow now, peeing my pants like a sissy and I can take that kind of blow to my masculinity, but a date with the bastard is a case that would be hard to swallow.