Popcorn

I've been thinking a lot about my own mortality lately, which weirdly manifests itself in an anxiety around popcorn. 

I think this is because of the fact that I've had two palliative patients pass away recently and because I've been reading some books on stoicism and mindfulness. 

I was falling asleep a few nights ago when I woke up my already drifting husband,

hon...we only have ONE life....ONE. THIS IS IT!!!

He acknowledged this to be true and in his pragmatic way pointed out that it didn't matter because we wouldn't know anything when it ended anyway.

So, I go to work and try to be my best self and give my best self to my patients. And it's hard and stressful and some days I want to cry with them when they are crying, and some days I do. I mean I don't sob away and use their sleeve to blow my nose, but I let myself have that emotion. And then I get home and man, all I want is popcorn. Yes. Truffle salt and cayenne and nutritional yeast, please, you haven't lived until you've tried my popcorn. But it feels gluttonous and my husband is sliding the Obesity Code my direction with monotonous regularity, encouraging me to read it. He keeps telling me about ketogenesis and podcasts and really, I just want popcorn.

HMPF.

Because, we only have one life. I should enjoy this popcorn now dammit. I could be dead tomorrow. 

But then I get up, and get dressed,  and my jeans are tight.  And I am OFF popcorn dammit. I go to work and see human suffering, and I see this crap shoot of a hand that we are dealt and I have to wonder.

What if it were me that had the molar pregnancy 4 months ago which has now metastasized to my lungs. All of my worries and all these neurosis really boil down to sweet fuck all. 

Having your own mortality pointed out to you at work on a nearly daily basis can really put things into perspective or completely out of perspective, depending on how you look at it.

I didn't have any tonight. For the record.