Death! Death!! DEATH!!!

If you could find out the exact time, day and means of your own death, would you want to know?
Why or why not?

Indeed, the only certainty in life is death. I know, I know, CLICHÉ’, but it is the essence of truthiness. It is the only state where we are all truly equal. With that said, I am torn between wanting to know the exact time, day and means of my own death. Finding out the time and cause of your demise ranks up there with other colossal truths such as who killed Kennedy, MLK Jr. and the real motives of 9/11. You are dying to know (no pun intended I guess, shitty implementation If it is indeed a pun), but it will scare you shitless to some degree.

I would want to know the exact time, day and means of my own death because it would be the catalyst for a drastic change in my personality. I would be more expressive and less subdued and robotic. More than likely, I’d stay in my room popping anti depressants and downing old bitch wine for the duration of my life. Another reality is that I’d go crazy and broke trying to find a cure or avert death. A favorable reality is that I’d have myself euthanize before the deed is done. Give a big FUCK YOU to destiny, fate or whatever. There is no need to live with the nagging preoccupation of knowing that information. One admirable reason for knowing the time and circumstances of my demise would be the possibility to save a life or lives. If I told I was to going to die during a terrorist attack, I’d wear a big sign alerting folks to stay the hell away from me on that day.

I would not want to know because there is no point in knowing. We will all succumb at some point unless you’re a mutant or a Terminator. As one of my classmates would say, such is life. No matter how many precautions you take, how many hours your work out and pray, death will come and take you away. Sobering, but true.