Well at least now I have a deadline to work with. According to the all-knowing [Deathclock], my tail will curl up for the last time on February 12, 2044. A Friday no less (great way to wrap up the work week).
When I was a kid I was a little obsessed with a Moody Blues song called 22,000 Days — a dour little ditty about the number of days in the average life. Theme music for a morose teen who saw every pimple as a tumor and would take his pulse before going out for a night on the town with friends just make sure he wasn’t on the verge of “The Big One”. Turns out I have 13,507 of those days left — more than enough time to have the life I’ve always wanted. Once I decide what that would be.
Before I saw this, I chose today to finally go to the drugstore and buy Nicoderm patches so I can quit cigs. Ironic.
UPDATE 2/20: Never mind. I [won’t live] to see 2044 anyway. Unfortunately, neither will you. Now where did I put those damned cigarettes…?