I’m not living like I’m dying. I don’t have a ‘bucket list,’ and I try not to carry baggage over-filled with regrets. If I knew the world would definitely end tomorrow, I wouldn’t go trying to satisfy long-denied urges or overwhelm my senses. I’d do exactly what I’m doing this morning, I’d live like I was living.

For me, this means routine: rising early, as I always do, greeting the cats while donning my goose down vest against the chill. The Muse will rouse hours from now. Until then, I have the bounded solitude I relish. I will sit in familiar surroundings, fetch the paper a little later, and write something just to hear what’s going on in my head.

I’ve already spent enough of my life adventuring. I warmly anticipate my everyday now, and I hope to spend this last day in the history of this world (if the Mayans or their mis-interpreters turn out to have been correct) as if this was the nothing special extraordinary day every single previous day turned out to be.

Hope to see me and you on the other side.

©2012 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: Homefull Homeless, Mayan End of the world Dying Living