Our minds do weird things when we are confronted the the possibility of impending death or suffering.
Technically I was not in that situation, but the doctor gently urged me to do an abdominal sonar. And there was some concern in his voice. Why? Because the hepatitis tests proved to be negative, I did not squirm with pain when he did a pressure test on my gall bladder, and we have a family history of pancreas cancer.
So until I had the scan done my mind went on weird and long overgrown paths. I contemplated life, and death, and what lies in between. I made sure that I had the contact details of my life insurance agents at hand in order to contact them if necessary. Late one night, when I could not sleep, due to discomfort and worry, I thought about my epitaph.
What would it be? And the words came to me... "He worked himself to death".
T
here was never a holiday in the last 15 years that I was not called by someone from work, the closest I came was the past December, when I had an automatic rejection message for certain numbers.
My epitaph: "He worked himself to death".
I think it is time for change, for auto-number rejection, for spending more time with my family.
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