I always figured I’d figure out the whole living forever thing. My whole life, I put off death as one of those tough problems, like finding a wife, that I’d get to when the time came. And here I am, 29 with terminal cancer. End of the road.
I always figured that by some point I’d have made enough money, or technology would have progressed, and there’d be a way for me to live forever. That never seemed far beyond reason until sometime yesterday, or the day before, when the truth grasped me during a daydream like it often does.