Here’s a morbid (yet entertaining) way to spend 3 minutes. Picture your most recent near death experience. Or, if you’re like me, just think of the one time you fractured a bone. That’s gotta be close enough to death, especially if you fracture said bone on a mountainside known to double as a grocery store for mountain lions. Now, all laws of averages aside, I think it’s likely that this near death-ish moment could repeat itself. I’m the same me and my body is still uncoordinated as a hippo going through puberty. They must inadvertently walk into a few trees, and I wouldn’t even want to google “hippo pimples.” Though it would be totally cool if someone searched that term and found this blog.
Anyhoo, I figure that Death, in a pinch, would try the same method to do me off that almost worked once, right? Even if that dramatic event was just me slipping in socked feet on a linoleum floor. I still run around indoors regardless of surface slickness. I run just to get a drink of water. And why not, I ask; exercise is exercise in this day and age of air conditioning and internet access. So if I die slipping on linoleum in an exaggerated pratfall, then my last words might well be, “What’s such a bad idea about having carpeting in the kitchen?”
And if I had to place this future event in time, I’d say January of 2041. I don’t want to miss out on my last Christmas, I run more in winter to keep warm in cold houses, plus I go sockless in the warmer months. I was pretty much born middle-aged and I wish to remain as such. On my birthday in February of 2041 I’d be turning 50 and, really, how many people live to 100? (Or want to, for that matter.) A self-proclaimed “middle-aged” person at 50 is being willfully optimistic.
So mark your calendars. And just to give myself a tidy goal, let’s say it’ll be the 27th of January because that’s one of my lucky numbers. Now just imagine how happy I’ll be over something silly when I survive that day!
This has been a ridiculous post, and I hope you appreciate that I not only thought about this but then felt compelled to type it up. Blame insomnia, not me.