It seems that we must avoid death at all costs
I have become squeamish around illness. My first instinct on everything is that it is something really bad. Bad is cancer, heart, brain. The serious ones. With everything now, from gum pain to digestive matters, the first thing I want to know is that it's not, as they say, sinister. I feel reckless even writing about it. Superstitious. Isn't this the kind of thing that comes back and bites you in the ass?
It's not that I'm actually a hypochondriac. I rarely go to the doctor and I am ignoring plenty of things I probably should get looked at. But like many people, I have this notion that cancer is there waiting to get us all.
It is slowly dawning on me that I will die. It hasn't fully sunk in yet. I mean, logically I accept that I will die, but it won't be for ages yet, will it? I still have loads of various phases. I better have, because otherwise why I am forgoing all this pleasure and focusing on paying off all these debts?