So I woke up feeling really rotten, which is unusual. Thought maybe it was a heart attack (I didn’t have chest pain with the other ones, so who knows?) Decided it probably wasn’t, and lay there thinking about death. I don’t have any trouble with the thought – these are bonus years anyhow – really good years, but just bonus. And if I died today, I wouldn’t have to clean out the frig to get ready for Thanksgiving; that’d be a plus. Found myself thinking that dying may well be an interesting experience. But how frustrating that I wouldn’t be able to write about it afterwards.
|Only illustration I could find.|
So I quit thinking and got out of bed.