He said why put a new address on the same old loneliness when breathing just passes the time

I might get through each day without worrying if tomorrow I might drown in the shower, get eaten by hundreds of semi-mechanoid spiders or squished into the ground by an invading spacecraft, but the question of my own mortality is something i’m terribly good about burying my head in the sand about; Death and I never mix in good company.

When you have no family history, the fear of death is based on the fear of the unknown; I’ve never even given blood for the fear of what they might find.

But the problem with burying your head in the sand is that it has a tendency to come back, bite you in the ass. Words that end in ‘biopsy’ or ‘scopy’ or begin with ‘cytol’ or ‘dyspla’ do not just belong in medical dictionaries to excite hypochondriacs; but exist to remind you not to take your body or what you put into it for granted.

Whilst i’m luckily (and hopefully) far enough away from the end of the mortal coil for them to save me this time, others have recently been not and despite their publicity grabbing ways, you can’t but help think what made me so special that I get to live when someone else dies? It’s not like I’ve been more saintly or more deserving of the good karma; in fact, I’ve got a lot less to live for, a lot less to lose.

But I can’t change that, I wish I could. This isn’t a time to dwell on what ifs, only what will be, what’s next for me. But, whatever it is, whatever happens next, i have to remember to get busy living; before I get busy dying.

Kx

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