[ WP ] : Someone hands you a paper , stating that you only have 10 days left to live .

Now and again, I used to set a timer, sit still, close my eyelids and pace my breaths for five minutes. It's funny how a time as short as five minutes can open up and seem so long doing that. Weeks, months, years have whizzed by me. Ten days is n't much time at all, but when I got the letter, that time opened up too, and, well, it almost seems like too much. 
 
 It's like the immensity of time, the possibilities of what to do in (? ) it, with (? ) it, jumped out at me. I think that's what scares me the most: how valuable it is. I'm scared I'm going to waste it and scared that, if I do something with it, I could put it to better use elsewhere. 
 
 Running off and trying to check things off a bucket lists might make for good movies. Kids who still got a lot of years ahead of them might have a good time doing something like that. I'm not going to jump up and do anything like that, though, and I do n't think many do. 
 
 I do n't know if I'm at peace with myself. I'm not going to work myself up trying to be or worrying about it. I am worried, in quiet kind of way. I used to go swimming in the ocean. I'd think about all the things beneath the surface that could get me. It's kind of like that, except I know now exactly when it's going to get me. That makes it not as bad. 

