Although I’m psychic, I can’t tell you when you’re going to die; I can only tell you when you’re going to live. Which won’t be anytime soon. You exercise, work hard, and eat right not because you enjoy it one bit, but because you’re running from death. You married your partner not because you were in love, but because you figured life is short. You’ve never fully tasted a tamale, or heard finches sing, or really observed a sunset, because you’re always wondering if it will be your last. It all has to be so meaningful, right? Just in case.