The year is half over. You measure time far more acutely as you age. You become so much more aware of its value and how it is fleeting. You just do not know how many more years, months, or days you have left and it is terrifying. It gets you both ways - you think a lot about the time you have squandered - almost FIFTY YEARS, while knowing you may have another thirty or forty or you may have two. Will you spend your golden years hale and hearty, or attached to an IV drip as cancer eats your insides? Will you live to see our nation become more just or will you drop dead while Donald Fucking Trump is President? Will you get to enjoy a retirement you are assiduously planning for or will some random driver speed through a red light and kill you? Andy said in Shakshank that you have to get busy living or get busy dying but what happens when you feel caught between?
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