Do you ever feel that life is so fragile? That your human existence could be dissipate and that everything will be nothing?

Sometimes life feels so fragile, as if it might disappear and everything will be forgotten. It’s a strange feeling. Aging feels worrying, I feel awfully mortal. I know, I know; I’m not old but each year that passes, my life (at least as I know it) is closer to being over. No cures, no second chances. Just old-age-over. And that’s the good way. That’s the happy, long-life way. The other way is not so happy.

I also feel like memory is untrustworthy, I can’t retain everything. Maybe it’s all stored somewhere but I think the amount that I have access to is minimal. I want to remember the detail but I just can’t. I think about what photos I want to take of them in advance. I want to go swimming, the 4 of us and I want to buy the girls matching swimsuits just so I can take cute picture. I take so many photos, mostly of my children. I have thousands stored onto SD cards and backed up on a laptop, later this year I’ll back them up onto a dedicated harddrive. Last night I spent a couple of hours choosing 12 out of all of them to have printed with Photobox. I choose the premium retro prints (feign Polaroids, isn’t it funny that old becomes cool again?). I’m going to plait hessian string and clip photos from it and put it on the wall. I’m so excited about their arrival because it’s a small piece of our lives, it’s a memories retained. It’s Eva’s first Birthday at the monkey forest, it’s Eva’s favourite Christmas gift on Christmas Day (a small Peppa Pig…seriously…out of all the- never mind… you know kids, a bloody card board box would have been more exciting than all those gifts), it’s Florence looking serene in her whale bath. Out of the thousands of photos only some of them are frame-worthy. The rest are messy and natural, they’re life as it is. Those are the best. In the future I’ll be looking through the (by then millions of) photos and i’ll be scanning the backgrounds for beloved toys and items long forgotten. The soft Barney toy, the lunch bag, the books, the hot air balloon stickers on Eva’s wall, the cartoons on TV…

There’s more than a sentimental side of this for me, there’s a reckless side. A side that doesn’t value money. It’s time, I suppose, but it’s paper. It comes and it goes and really, in the bitter end does it matter if you’re in debt or that you spent a shit ton on a TV. Does it matter that you had to eat pasta for a month because you splashed out on stuff that made you happy? Like Jordan in The Wolf of Wall Street says, money is ‘fun coupons’. Bit of a cliche but tomorrow I could be hit by a bus (why is it always buses?)…

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