Blase

It’s easy for me to be Blase about dying. Unlike the poor folk in mediaeval times I’m not faced with the daily threat of premature extinction Under such circumstances, who knows, I might even clutch at the religious straw like all the other fearful fuckers.

But as it is, I don’t care much. It’s a certainty that I keep pushing away into the distant future, over the hill and out of sight and mind. Effectively, at any moment, I’m timeless and I’ll never die.

As a first order approximation it’s worked so far. And as I’ve noted elsewhere I’m shit at forecasting the future. There’s a 100% certainty that I’ll die. There’s a 1 in a zillion chance that I’d get the day, month or even year right.

Mathematically it’s not worth worrying about. 100 X 0 is still zero.

Ta la de da.