When the fat lady sings, I hope she can carry a tune.
I am going to die. I will die. I am dying. I know this for a fact. Â I am dying as we speak. Â Every day I am closer to death. Â With every breath I take, I am closer to hearing the Fat Lady Sing.
This is the only certainty I can live by.  I mean I could be driving down the Palmetto and be hit by a reckless gal on her mobile who’s talking to her friend about some guy who she’s banging at the office and boom! Dead.  Or I could be crossing the street and be struck by a beautiful grand piano falling from the sky, very poetic but boom! Dead. Or a clot that could be slowly forming could reach my brain and I could just die in front of my computer, my face fall flat on my keyboard and when the coroner comes to take me away the keyboard panel could be incrusted in my forehead. Lovely. Death does not become her.
Isn’t it liberating?  Every time something scares me or I think I can’t do something I just basically think about my death and somehow I feel more alive. I am alive right now. Which is totally the point I am trying to make.  Believe me I have one.  Unless I die while I’m writing and I never get to make it. Â
The point is that because we do end, because there is a finish line, a flatline, and a period to this sentence, what we do, what we give, what we say, how we make others feel; are the only things that can transcend life. Just do it now. Say it now. Be it now.