Dying fast vs. dying slow

Presumably, most of the people reading this are dying slow, in the sense that this is the way time passes: it is a reality of life.

There are some readers who think that I am dying fast, in the sense that they think I am actively in the process of wasting away in a sickly and frail bag of skin and bones.

I am not dying fast.

Yet.

Of course, at some point and for everyone, that changes, but I want people to know that for the time being, I am just like most of you. I am dying slow.

Because I'm still in the position that I am dying slow, life is actually pretty ordinary. I take my morning medications, I write, I eat breakfast, I play with my goofy dog and have extensive conversations with my cats.

I nap. I eat lunch. I write or read for a while. I hang out with The Husband when he gets home from work.

We have a remarkably ordinary routine going. Often, I miss the extraordinary that we were able to experience, but for now, uneventful is objectively a good thing.

I know that with a diagnosis like mine, my family and friends worry that I am dying fast.

Here is my Christmas gift for you: For the time being, you don't have to worry so much!