With rest breaks. Outside of time.

Another word for angst. Dread. Maybe that's what I feel. Dread. That time is running out. Every day. I step closer to my ultimate death. It can't be that far off. A relatively small percentage of my life remains. And I fear/dread lapsing into a state of absolute nothingness. From where I came. Out of nothingness. Unaware of existence. Unaware of creation. Of any life form. That is what it must be like. Living outside of time. No way of measuring anything. I've often wished. Right here. For the privilege of living outside of time. Conditionally. As long as I could perceive time from the outside. Theoretically, that would allow me to exist. And I could still have the ability to imagine. That I am still alive. A functioning, conscious being. Yes, it's difficult wrapping myself around such an outlandish concept. But I'm prepared to try virtually anything. In order to cultivate my survival instinct. I want eternal consciousness. With the option of falling asleep. For short periods. To allow my consciousness the opportunity to rejuvenate. Really, that's what I have now. An off-and-on switch. Which makes for a pleasurable and stimulating life. With rest breaks. Outside of time. --Jim Broede