Going, Going, Gone (Another "Gordon" Blog)

Yeah, we gotta start
Looking at the hands of the time we've been given
If this is all we got and we gotta start thinking
If every second counts on a clock that's ticking
Gotta live like we're dying

We only got 86,400 seconds in a day to
Turn it all around or to throw it all away
We gotta tell them that we love them
While we got the chance to say
Gotta live like we're dying

My friend Gordon strikes again.  This time, it's something called the "Poof Factor."  He should be writing this blog himself now that he has access to do it, but I guess he has performance anxiety or something.  I hear men sometimes experience that.

 

Now, if you know me, you know I like to give people things.  I discovered that Gordon has a sweet tooth and seems to share an affinity for white chocolate. So, I share my chocolate with Gordon.  Sort of living vicariously.  I can't really have much candy or chocolate so I buy it and give it to him.

He seems to think I'm trying to give him diabetes by feeding him regular doses of chocolate. He calls it Munchausen by proxy but that usually involves a parent trying to kill their child or make their child dependent upon them by making them sick.  Hmm, hate to break it to you Gordon, but I'm not old enough to be your mother and there are far better ways to slowly kill you or make you sick.  Like, oh, I don't know, poisoning your gum.  If I were the sort of person to do that sort of thing.  Which I'm not. It's too bad you feel this way because I had white chocolate in my un-needed "hurricane preparedness" stash. Guess I'll have to find someone else to give it to. (shrug)

I find it slightly humorous that Gordon is concerned about his future health and well-being considering that in the course of the past few days, he has tried to convince me that dying at the age of 50 is a good idea and that aging in reverse until we just go "poof!" (the "poof factor") is also a pretty good alternative if dying at age 50 doesn't appeal. 

Dying at age 50 does not appeal to me.  I'm depressingly getting closer to that number each day and I have far too many things to do and see to die at age 50.  (See my blog Only The Good Die Young about my bucket list for more on that.)

Now, I know Gordon is joking.  At least, I hope he's joking.  The superstitious part of me will be very mad at him if he drops dead on his 50th birthday. I think I personally need more than 13 years to figure out how his brain works and to find that perfect song I can plant in his head.  I don't like to joke about death (or cars that break down or fake illness) for fear that it will jinx someone or myself.  I'm weird like that.  Gordon, however, does not seem to be fazed by it.  He seems to think that knowing his expiration date will make living a whole lot easier.  He won't have to get old.  He won't have to be on this earth at an old age all by his lonesome if everyone else close to him goes first.  Morbid.   

Now, the alternative -- the "poof factor" has some merit.  I often joke that I wish we could have access to our retirement funds and be able to not work while we're young enough to enjoy it and then instead of retiring at 60, we then start working and work until we drop dead.  I don't want to stop working at 60 when I'm possibly too old to enjoy life.   So, the thought of starting out old and aging backwards has some merit.  Although, I'm not quite sure I have the patience to suffer through wrinkled skin, gray hair, hot flashes, saggy body parts and the need for "intimate warming gel" just to get to the good stuff 40-50 years down the road.  I don't think Gordon's quite thought that through, to be honest.  Viagra.  Baldness. No teeth.  Hmmm.. no teeth.  Now, that one has some potential.

I suggested that we just stop aging somewhere around 30.  30 was a good year for me.  Old enough to know better and young enough to still enjoy the things I should know better than do. 

But, he said no.  Gotta commit to the whole thing.  Gotta keep going until you become a microbe.  Go poof! 

I tried to update my Facebook status earlier with this theory of his, but my cell phone kept autocorrecting "poof" to "poop".

I guess it's better to end life going poof, then to end life going poop!