Sometimes I think I have no faith in people.

And then I think about it, and realize that it's true: I don't, in fact, have any faith in people. How sad.



On a TOTALLY UNRELATED NOTE *wink wink*, I cringe every time I see a report on the news about scientists discovering new ways to make people live longer.

People who have terminal diseases.

People who should probably die, anyway.


I'm not trying to sound insensitive, but for fuck's sake, people - if you're sick and you're going to die, get your affairs in order and realize that we, as animals, have to go sometime. It's shitty luck to be stricken with something such a terminal cancer, lupus, AIDS, Lou Gehrig's disease, etc, etc...and because I'm speaking out about it like this, I'll probably end up with all of the above in some weird genetic freak accident stemming from a new tattoo in a seedy parlour on a trip to a foreign country while drunk and high on roofies.


My point is this: we are not meant to live forever. It's a nice thought (actually, it's not a nice thought to me...it's kind of creepy...but I know some people who would like to live forever purely to keep helping people, and that's kind of nice, as long as they're not of the class that wants to keep people's hearts beating until they're 150 years old), but we're not Galapagos tortoises. We're not gods (despite what some politicians would like for you to believe). We're not meant to live past around the age of 65, if you want to know the truth. Proof positive? Look at the sharp decline of the health of the general population past that point. We're meant to die of natural causes or being eaten by something before then. We are, in fact, ANIMALS.


I just felt the need to rant about that for a minute. I've seen all these reports about genetically finding a cure for impotence, Crohn's disease, and whatnot...and while I don't begrudge anyone's wish to live their life to the fullest during the time that they're able with some help, I just know that when my time comes, I'm gone. I'm not going to fight. There's no point. It happened for some reason, and whether it was my fault (smoking, which I don't do, but you get my point) or someone else's (uh...nature's for giving me cancer? I dunno), I'm going to deal with it. I'll get my affairs in order if I have the time to do so, and if not, I'll assign someone to do it for me. If there's a chance of my survival that's above 50%, I'll go ahead and try one round of treatment, depending on my age (if I'm over 65, just let me die, would ya?). If my chance of survival is below that? I'll just take my trip to Europe, thanks, and do what I can while I'm still alive.

I have a feeling I'll be more comfortable when I go, that way.


Having said that, I will do my damnedest to NOT accept death by an unnatural cause, such as someone trying to take my life. That's as bad as killing yourself, in my eyes. :-P I wouldn't bother getting a gun and trying to protect myself if all I was going to do was simper something like Sabine in The Three Musketeers: "Be kind...aim for my heart."

Riiiight.