A Note on Me and Mortality.

I’ve made no secret of the fact that intimations of mortality have taken root in my consciousness ever since the operation to remove a cancerous kidney four years ago. The notion sits there now like a permanent hum which I’m sometimes aware of and sometimes not, but never a day goes by when it remains entirely unheard.

Some might think this a morbid preoccupation, but mostly it isn’t. When life has been casting stress-inducing circumstances at me over a protracted period – as it has for the past eight days – and as the irritation of health issues grows ever more inflated, the notion that there is only so much longer to go is actually quite comforting.

I used to face stress with the presumption that one day the clouds would clear and life would get better again, but I’ve reached the stage at which such a presumption is hardly practicable. That being the case, intimations of mortality have become the new optimism. There’s no death wish involved, just the pleasant prospect of rest when the time is right.

Ever rational, you see, even in the midst of madness.