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Pluto, Sex, and Writing But Not in That Order
Yesterday, I learned a family member doesn't have long to live. The sad news wasn't what made me think of my own death. I've thought about it a lot lately. But what the news did was make me wonder why I was already thinking of death when all signs point to plenty of years yet on this ball. I don't think I'm done, but I've been feeling pressure, as if I don't have much time. I feel like I've wasted so much of my life. So many of my fifty-six years were spent researching, establishing principles, and arguing about things I don't care about at all anymore. There was that time I got a degree in classical languages so I could argue biblical exegesis with those who tell me I can't speak for god because I'm: A) woman B) queer C) hedonist D) All of the above. Or there was...