Dying Sucks, For Sure...

...but things could be worse. But not by much. If you're in your late fifties, with cancer, and taking care of an elderly parent your prospects for employment are few. So, you try to get through each day with wine, pot and a sense of humor. Yes, pot. Deal with it. What's it like to be told you're dying. Not so much different than being told you're drunk. I knew that when I was 18, I know it now. The health care system is so fucked I couldn't begin to tell you, and that's just from having dealt with my Mom for the past year, not to mention me. But do I favor national health care? I really don't know. I could use it because in a month I won't have any, but I worry about my sons and their families in the years to come. I'll be long gone, so I really shouldn't worry about it at all.

Do I think about dying? Not a bit. I have my views on it, being a life-long Catholic, with heaven and such. And I've thought about reincarnation. My best guess is we just go to sleep. Period. I wish it were more, but I doubt it.