I used to worry a lot about death. I can’t say I’ve stopped, entirely, but lately I’ve wound it down. I miss worrying about death, actually, because it was such a nice solid unanswerable thing to worry about, and I didn’t have to feel petty that it made me so anxious. Of course it made me anxious, it was death! Death is really, really scary and bad! Now when I’m very anxious I have to admit, as I did this morning, that it’s just about how people perceive me, not getting work done, and feeling that I’ve failed. Which is silly, really. Or at least more silly than death.

Now I worry about my back going out. Yes, there are plenty of things to worry about, but none as satisfying as death.