So here is a weird confession...
Part of me hopes that I will find out that I have terminal cancer.
There is a threefold reason for this.
One: I can just give up and stop trying.
Two: loads of people will start following my blog, and I might even start doing podcasts.
I'm not being facetious here. What a fucking liberation it would be to be able to stop trying. Seriously. Stop going to the gym, stop trying to finish that bloody novel, stop trying to save up money for x, y and z. Then I can sit with my laptop, maybe beside a temple, on top of a hill, outside of Lhasa in Tibet and write my latest blog update... killing two birds with one stone... blogging, and making bloody sure I experience a goodly number of the items on my bucket list.
Yeah, that's number three... just go and bloody well do my bucket list. Fuck paying rent, fuck having a council house, fuck having a car with its MOT, tax and insurance.... just go and LIVE whilst I am dying.
Of course, it goes without saying, it is only a very small part of me that hopes I'm dying. Most of me wants to live.... and some of me, the most courageous part, wants to live as if I am dying.