Living

 I have a pretty great life and hardly a day goes by when I don’t thank my lucky stars and express my gratitude (usually silently) for being alive.

But I’ll be ready to go when it’s my time to go (I hope) and it’s my firm intention not to cling to this mortal coil any longer than necessary, especially if doing so is burdensome to my family, friends, and loved ones.

Life is swell, no doubt about it, but I also want to keep in mind that I was perfectly satisfied before I was born and I expect to be just as content after I’m gone.  So, no need to be miserable and/or to make others miserable just to hang around for a little longer—even if it means being alive if and when the Mariners finally win the World Series (not holding my breath for that one, to be sure.)

I say (that is, write) this now, recognizing that I might not feel the same way when death becomes more immanent, but I hope that in doing so, my future self may be more apt to take the advice of my current instantiation, but we shall see.

It’s not entirely unlikely, given my family medical history and my own current relative good health, that what will do me in—or at least, precipitate my final exit—will be some sort of stroke.  My fear about that (apart from paralysis, loss of bowel function, and drooling) is that I’ll be unable to remember or communicate my original desires and so will be kept alive by well-meaning medical professionals in spite of my wishes. (Not so worried about my family and friends; they know me better and are, I hope, less amenable to changing my diapers.)

In the meantime, then, there’s not much to do, I suspect, other than letting my perspective be known (like this) and trying to live life fully.  Also, drool as little as possible.