Dear readers, when you read this, it may unfortunately be that I’m dead. Namely, I have decided to do something that God and the climate did not intend, because then I would have been born with wings.
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s flying. Of course, I’m not the least bit scared of flying. I just happen to be very aware that the classmate at KTH who used cheat pieces on the exam in Strength Doctrine part 2 may have had to do with the aircraft’s construction.
I dislike having to take off my shoes just because some terrorist many years ago had explosives in his shoe. If we reasoned just as frivolously with motoring, we would need new prisons to make room for all speeding drivers who think it is obvious that you can break the law as long as it is not more than ten kilometers per hour.
I hate standing in line at Arlanda; even though I will not end up among the tentless paperless, there will still be some queue somewhere.
There are sensitive environmental souls among the opinion staff at the editorial office, I do not belong to them. I belong, as my readers know, more to the variety that sometimes, when I encounter the worst sides of nature, feel that we should asphalt more and more often, so we keep forest mice, ticks and snakes away from our fragile bodies.
I know that I am privileged to have a job, to have a job that also gives me a holiday, and to top it all off, I can afford to take a holiday. I could also take a train. So it is objectively not a pity for me at all, but it is of course no obstacle for me to still feel sorry for myself.
I can not drowning the anxiety in alcohol, because if you get up every morning and write your novels and comics, and therefore never have time to drink, you get so terribly sick when you do and then the flight becomes not just a climate mockery and an anxiety trip but also meaningless.
Here, in the waiting room of death that others call life, I still want to take the opportunity to say that it has been fun to write for you, the best of readers. I have also provided a solid list of bank accounts and life insurance policies and such to those who need to know such things.
I’ve been thinking about writing a rune on myself, but I can think of nothing else to write but “God is dead”, which may not be about me, but about my view of God if I were to be snatched away too soon. .
Read more series by Augustin, such as this one when complaining about the young men’s perseverance in video games or the story of when the snake crawled into the summer cottage.