I will enjoy this death anxiety, and I will harness it. This constant buzzing is the dirge for my squandered time, my squandered life.
Life is but a grand bargain. We barter our very vitality—the slow ebb of strength, the fraying threads of memory, the waning sharpness of mind —in a quest for meaning itself. Perhaps that meaning lies in contributing to human civilization, in the constant endurance of hardship, or simply in the ordinary.