The Fish to Come

I was a little nervous late last night, but we managed to dodge the bullet and life, as I know it, didn't come crashing to an end. The meteor, as predicted, missed Earth and I can eat that fish in my freezer, only just not for breakfast.

In a way, I'm a bit disappointed. It would have been, literally, spectacular. Sure, along with the rest of us, I would have died, but I've long known that I'm going to do that, anyway. And, as long as I'm going to die, it's better to do so in some tremendous way than old and sick in hospital with tubes and candy-stripers.

Which, also, explains why I'd be first in line to be abducted by aliens, should they get here. The way I see it, there's not much difference between dying here and dying on some other planet, and seeing how they live or travel would be its own reward.

I know, I should be more selfish and grasp onto every chance to live another day, to extend my life and use up even more of this planet's limited resources, but I've already taken far more than I've produced. I don't have the numbers handy, but I have a hunch it's more than my fair share, so I'm justified in feeling as guilty as I do.

And, no, I'm not actively seeking out ways to die, but seeing the end of the world would be ... noteworthy. I don't believe in it, but the Rapture would be far more interesting to see than just some doctor shaking her head while looking at my chart. More dramatic, if you will.

There's another meteor or asteroid or something on its way, and there's always the bird flu or Supervolcano under Yellowstone to consider, so I haven't given up hope on the Revenge of the Cosmos.

Until then, I'm happy to be alive and hope to live each day more fully than the last.