I am waking up every morning amazed that I am still alive. Pain is a constant. Feeling ill from diabetes is a second constant. Too many constants in the equation means you can work out the math and predict the date you will have to play chess with the Grim Reaper again.
Fortunately for me, old Grimmy hasn’t figured out the King’s Indian defense that I learned in 1972 by reading Bobby Fischer’s column about chess in Boys’ Life Magazine. He falls for the Knight’s Gambit every single time we play.
I confess to being overly obsessed with death lately. That may have been partly due to promotions for the movie Guardians of the Galaxy, Volume 3 that seemed to point to beloved characters dying in what was said to be the last movie in the trilogy. Well, they did almost die… but (Spoiler alert!) Nobody I cared about actually died. Not Rocket Raccoon, not Drax the Destroyer, nor Peter Quill’s Starlord character as well.
Even more, it seemed my writing results were indicating future writer doom. My blog activity was down. Book sales are down. When I die, nobody will have read and loved the works of novel art that I have been pouring my life’s blood into for over a decade. My stories will cease to be, unread and forgotten even by my relatives.
I haven’t even been able to write the usual 500 words a day for over two weeks. But, then, I cut back on Instagram activity, and voila! (a fancy French word that means, “There it is!”) I was able to write a blog post and write more on my book of essays as well.
So, maybe I have been obsessing about death too much. But I do find it useful as motivation for the limited number of things lazy old me still does to think that todary is the last day to get anything done. We shall see if I wake up deceased tomorrow or not.
Catch a Falling Star 