DAILY PROMPT: PREDICTIONS
There are 344 days remaining in the year. Describe what you’d like to be doing on day 211. (Hint: that’s July 30th.)
The only thing I know about July 30th is that I’ll be 190 days older, providing my maths is right – and assuming I haven’t carked it by then.
There are no indications that I’m flogging my way up the hill to the pearly gates – or, indeed, that I’m picking up speed in the other direction – but there’s no doubt that once you reach your three-score years and ten, people you’ve never heard of find it their bounden duty (or a regular source of income) to remind you that your allotted span is up, and from now on, you should be thinking about poppin’ up the daisies instead of picking them.
A nice funeral plan, they tell you, would ease the anxiety of your final days.
Piss off, chaps. Don’t rush me, I’m busy.
And my reaction is much the same (though milder) to the idea of predicting my whereabouts, occupation, mood or physical wellbeing on day 211.
I’m liking today, thanks very much. Don’t rush me.