I was thinking some very discouraging, depressing things today when I got up. About this blog, that at some point it's got to end.
Even if I wrote it -- let's say till I got sick and came close to dying, or until I suddenly dropped dead, or until I became mentally incapacitated, or until I was in the hospital for a three month stay, at some point I'm not going to be able to.
Then what? There doesn't seem to be a service out there that comes around, gets your password (confidentially, of course, lest you recover and live another five years), then terminates things. Puts a fitting farewell message, or wraps up the whole thing and sends it all to the Smithsonian, then terminates it lovingly, putting behind an animated GIF of an eternal flame with your name and dates, etc.
I don't know what's supposed to happen. There's no rules in the wild west, apparently.
If you're working at a factory, of course they have you out of there long before you become frail and can't keep up the pace. It's conceivable that someone could die on the assembly line. The lineman would step in to keep the line going. They have some of those safety devices in a case on a pole. Someone would break it out, a porta-stretcher. They'd put your body on it and hustle it to the gate. By all means the line would keep going.
I haven't exercised in a month, true statement. My stomach is telling me it's only a matter of time now.
What I'm going to do -- or not do -- when the end comes, I don't know. Nothing, I guess. I guess I have bigger things to worry about. Like survival.