Friday it is. Neither I nor the world ceased to exist last night. Win some; lose some.
I have noticed a strange, new and rather unsettling daily habit. If the moons and stars and all the Big Whatever align, we may have a relative who may just leave us an inheritance which would mean that I could use a form of finger communication to the working life and live out the rest of my days in quiet, country concord. This relative marks a 90th birthday this month. How does this pertain to my OC routine? On high stress days, I open the newspaper to the funeral notices and try to calculate the average age of death after individuals reach their nineties.
I am not actively praying for anyone’s passing, but a little like visiting a fortune teller, I am trying to see some light at the end of my work tunnel, by have the comfort of; “on average only another year, two…four”. Some days, my poor maths prove that most people live to be 100 if they ever make it to 90, which has me weeping and planning to bring a hip flask to the office next day.
In all probability that is a exact statistic hiding on somewhere in the numbers shared by the Australian Bureau of Statistics, but I am not sure it would be helpful to search for it. What if it tells me the average age really is 100? Or, perhaps it would say 90.5 years and then when the “average” comes and goes, well, then, will my already fragile state of mental health be at extreme risk?
One must be honest also, for there is nothing stopping the relative, a male, from marrying and yet siring an heir. I am sure that many a lifelong bachelor has succumbed to the evil wiles of some gold digging, inheritance busting, boobette. Or another 90 year olds charms.
It has been a difficult couple of days…I may have just read that there is a 6.60% chance of reaching 100. Of course there is always the “exception to the rule” quotation meaning a person could live even longer; and stress is a killer so I may go first at this rate!