How your perspective on dying changes when you realize you're dying

Don't get me wrong; all of us are always dying, and like the motto of one of my fave alt-news sites proclaims; on a long enough timeline the survival rate for everybody drops to zero.

No shit!

But circumstances have brought me to a place where the odds of my dropping dead any moment have allegedly increased exponentially. That of course is the regrettable course of events that led to a couple of nasty diagnoses nobody wants to hear; CHF and COPD.

Well, you can't really make light of that sort of thing. At the same time, what are you supposed to do about it? I've had my issues in the past. In my "wild hare" days I graduated through one of the world's finest addiction rehab centre's not once, but twice! Today I'm six years older than the life expectancy of a boy-child born in '55.

Not only that, but neither of my allegedly life-threatening ailments have in any way impacted my ability to do the things I love most: read and write!

So as far as I'm concerned, my best bet is to keep living life. At this point, cutting out the weed or the smokes or the beer is entirely beside the point. I owe life to the grace of God, and I give thanks for it every day.