Martin Sustrik

Even the funeral home can't guarantee same-day service anymore.

Bodies now have to wait.

You look out of the window at the neighboring house, the windows empty and the yard overgrown with weeds, and think about the book club you used to attend.

It stopped meeting when the woman who used to organize it moved away.

You are told that the local volunteer fire brigade can't find enough members and will likely cease to operate.

You are also warned that there may be bacteria in the tap water.

You are told to boil your water before drinking it.

Sometimes you notice how the friends and neighbors are getting less friendly each year.

When you need a hand, you call them, but somehow today, they just really, really can't.

It's tough.

They'll definitely help you next time.

But often, they are too busy to even answer the phone.

Everyone now has more people to care for.

Everyone is stretched out and running thin on resources.

When you were 50 and children started to leave the home, you and your friends, you used to joke that now you would form an anarcho-syndicalist commune.

Ten years later you actually discuss a co-living arrangement, and all you can think about is the arithmetic of care.

Would you be the last one standing, taking care of everybody else?

Finally someone bites the bullet and proposes moving together but signing a non-nursing care contract first.

And you find yourself quietly nodding in approval.

This article was narrated by Type 3 Audio for LessWrong.