Apologies for repeating that boring old adage, but here it is: There are only two certainties in life, death and taxes.
If you're as good as I am at NOT making money then paying taxes can essentially be ruled out.
That leaves me with only the certainty of death, which is better than most people have it, I guess. There's much less paperwork (and math) around dying and you don't have to do it every year.
I mention this because yesterday I was glued to a documentary on the death of the great writer Nora Ephron (see When Harry Met Sally). As Miss Ephron was dying of a blood disease that morphed into cancer, she successfully kept it a secret from friends, colleagues and the public, all the while working. An amazing feat for a celebrity. Some speculated that she didn't want people treating her differently and feeling sorry for her.
What would I do in that situation? I think I'd go for the feeling sorry for me and treating me differently alternative.
Yes, every time I ran into friend or stranger, I would introduce myself as, "Hi, I'm dying. And how is your day going?"
I would anticipate people feeling awful and guilty, inducing them to buy me an expensive dinner or maybe a Vegas trip. After all, I won't be around much longer.
"Oh, is that Ruth's Chris across the street? I've never eaten there."
I'm like a fine wine. Once you open me the clock is ticking. Not much time before I spoil. Enjoy me while you can. Don't forget to recycle.
Did I mention I'm dying?
I need people to feel sorry for me because then they will overlook all the other lame parts of me, like needing to nap after two coffees and a Red Bull. There's freedom in reduced expectations. I perform much better under these conditions. Give me a low bar and I'll jump way over it.
How can I achieve this result without actually having to die? I would need a condition that gives me a solid five years to cash in on people's sympathy instead of a lousy two months. Two months, doctor? Why didn't you tell me that 4 years ago?
Near the end, Miss Ephron set up long lunches and dinners with friends and not a whisper about her condition, covertly saying goodbye. It sounds like a painfully hard thing to do but that's the way she wanted it. In this situation I imagine the wine taking forever to pour so I had more time. It's strange that there's a huge debate in scientific circles about what time is and whether it really exists, and yet we all want more of it.
In my mind I honour Miss Ephron's courage, many world's bigger than mine. And her cute, imperfect teeth, which she never had the time or inclination to make perfect because she was too busy writing.
This blog is only half serious, of course. Which half I'm not sure.
It will be good news to some of you that I am not dying, or not dying in any kind of hurry. I am still trying to get into a situation where I make money, so I can pay taxes like everyone else.
