Wouldn't it be nice to know when you're going to die? I mean, I could die tomorrow and I'd probably go out thinking "Well, I wish I hasn't wasted the time at work and trying to prepare for the future and all, and had fun instead." OK, so that would probably be before "Ack---wheeze--rattle--pheh", or whatever. Anyway, you slave away at shit in the belief that it will be worth it. That there is some point to it and that you will have some reward for your labor in the end. That's the only thing that keeps me going I suppose. I know I wouldn't be working by *choice*. If I came into a shit load of money I wouldn't keep working. Not like this. I'd work, sure - take on interesting projects to keep my mind occupied, learn new things, solve interesting problems, etc. But I'd set my own schedule and goals instead of clawing for each paycheck to shove the money from the in box to the out box, and then do it again in two weeks.
So if I knew when I was going to die, I'd plan for it. I like having deadlines, no pun intended. Near the end, presuming I wasn't dying of something wasting (in which case I'd rather move up the check out time, if you know what I mean), I'd just say fuck it and go have fun. Why do I care what I die with? Spend it, have a big party, but shit for my friends, leave nothing for the state to tax in estate taxes and no heirs to get screwed by them.
There is a certain romantic attraction to the idea of walking away from your burdens in life, enjoying yourself for as long as you can, then punching your own ticket when the ride is over. But I don't think I'm capable of doing that (anymore at least, I think maybe I could've ten years ago), so it'd be nice to know when I'm going to check out so I can plan ahead. Have my own wake!
So, that's my head today - sex and death. I just keep thinking about sex and death.