Death By Interaction

There exists in nature a variety of heavy metals that, with repeated exposures, can build up in the body and become life-threatening. Arsenic, Lead, and Mercury are a few examples. While exposure to a lot of one may be immediately harmful, the slow build-up can be as bad if not worse. This is why eating too much tuna is bad for you. Or making hats in the 1800s. Eating paint chips for much of the 1900s.

I believe the same is true for me and social interactions. I posit that when I was conceived there was a preset number of human interactions my body was going to be able to withstand before it failed.
Depending on your outlook, it may have been a good thing my family was not very demonstrative. Myself, as far back as I can recall I did not like to interact with them much, physically, socially or in any other way. Was just not a family kinda kid, youth or adult.

The day will come however when the total number of interactions reaches its terminal quantity. The straw that breaks the camel’s back if you will.

One day, there I’ll be, in the grocery, knocking on a melon trying to determine its readiness to be eaten when, a random acquaintance will come up from behind me, place their hand on my shoulder and say, “Hey, Anthony, how have you been?!”

And, that will be it. I will simply expire, both the melon and I falling to the floor. That touch will have been the final touch, the one to take me to the predetermined number of interactions I am allowed. Kaput.
Maybe even just the greeting could do it; I am not sure.
“Hey, Ant-Knee!” and boom, dead. Clean up in produce, isle 2.

There is of course no scientific way to test this. It is just one of those gut feelings. I’ve had them before regarding other things that were dead-nuts accurate. Also had them that were completely incorrect. Some have yet to be proven right or wrong.

Are gut feelings subject to time limits? Topic for another time.

All I know is, if I should suddenly and without explanation simply die sometime, please make it part of my obit, “Whoever you were that saw him last, you are not to blame. You were simply the last of an unknown number. You were the Ka in the inevitable Ka-Boom of his time.”

Wouldn’t it be ironic if the recovery room nurse were my Ka?

Peace,
Ant-Knee