I am living my life as if I'm on the Titanic, if the Titanic had hit a slightly smaller iceberg, and the breach in the ship's hull was letting the water seep in at a little bit slower rate. Everything else is the same: certain doom, the hopeless futility of taking any kind of action to save the ship and the complete absence of any kind of timely rescue effort.
It's not too bad, all things considered. It's a five star vessel. Sure, it's terminally gutted and will never make it to port, but the accommodations are still pretty much intact. You are free to move about the boat, and there is a sense of devil may care when it comes to rationing or restraint. We're all gonna die, fuck it. May as well drink the good scotch and light cigars with hundred dollar bills.
A few people are still doing their regular jobs, swabbing decks and polishing the brass railings, but it is out of habit. The realization hasn't sunk in yet that nothing really matters. Unless it does. Maybe it's best to just treat it like the ship still has a hundred years of voyages left in it. Everybody stay the course; no one panic or go on a bender of riotous debauchery.
Knowing you're doomed, destined for the grave, should really motivate one to live fully, right up until the last moment. But some of us are barely living, barely making a scratch on this earth, although the sun is shining, and there are no forecasts of icebergs.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.