What would you do with your few remaining days? Yes, it’s a hypothetical exercise (it is, right?), that many of us are too hard-pressed, too preoccupied, or frankly, too cynical to think about.
I dunno, I think it’d be interesting. Besides being sort of bummed out — about, you know, the whole extinction thing — how would I spend the remaining time if all earthly existence were coming to a screeching halt?
Would I write the book I always wanted to write? Nah, pragmatically, it’d have to be a short story — and the market for short stories is just too small.
Would I watch my favorite TV shows? They’re mostly dramas with season-long story arcs that culminate in heart-stopping final episodes. Sorry, “Homeland,” I loved you, but you’re out. (Still, don’t you dare kill off Saul, Carrie or Brody tomorrow night!)
Would I gorge on my all-time favorite foods — the fatty, salty, crunchy, creamy, processed, UPC-labeled, nutrition-challenged, drive-thru “food” I’ve been known to ingest in mountainous quantities? (And the ones that forced me to surgically roto-rooter and re-route my heart’s arteries?)
Nope, bad foods would only make it worse. Plus, I wouldn’t want my butt to look fat for oblivion.
Let’s see, I couldn’t master an instrument — other than maybe a kazoo.
Couldn’t fly to some gorgeous South Pacific island — don’t have enough points.
Couldn’t become a professional hockey player — they’re on strike anyway.
Couldn’t scale Everest — too little time or body strength. Plus, Everest-climbing has become a big business, and I hate crowds.
Parachute? Bungee-jump? Cliff dive? “Dance fast” without the benefit of a few drinks? Tell that jerk down the hall what I really think of him? Have a V-8? Watch a reality show for the first time?
Ixnay to all — plus, for that last one, not even if I had a million years left to live, much less a couple of days.
Guess that leaves just one thing. You got it. Heroin!
The only thing to do would of course have to involve family and loved ones. Hugs, laughs, tears, looking at pictures, horsing around, recalling special times. Good, old-fashioned quality time. That’s the ticket. What better way to go out than basking ourselves in love?
Yeah, you and I both know where this headed. If family time is the best, last thing we could do with our final days, it’s something we could and should do anyway. Starting now.
No matter what calendar you go by, no one has the luxury of unlimited time. Maybe those Mayans didn’t have it wrong after all. Maybe they were trying to force us all along to get our priorities in line. Hey Mayans, dudes, well played!