I was told by a psychic that I will die of drugs at the age of 27. But I will be a sucess at my chosen profession, and get a no-headline memorial cover of Rolling Stone (like John Lennon and Kurt Cobain). The only problem is that the death date I was given was September 7, 2001, which is drawing ever closer. I’m still not sure whether or not I believe it.
I plan on living forever.
Naturally, I intend to live forever.
I just don’t want to grow old.
Don’t dismiss this as silly just yet; there may be a cure for aging within the next few decades. If not, there are still predictions that soon the average life span will increase at a rate faster than one year per year. Neat.
Your point reminds me of–whaddya expect?–a wonderful book about living the hell outta life and how to face death. I can’t recommend it highly enough: Tuesdays With Morrie. A truly zestful, great gent who most unfairly–when is it ever fair?–got ALS. Typically, he decided to document his own death as a part of his life.
The surrender of basic privacy was just part of it–the man didn’t sugar coat things–but oddly enough it’s not depressing at all. It also makes a person want to grab every single, precious minute there is.
Puts the wrapping into perspective relative the gift. Made me greedy and grateful. I’m not gonna give up one single damned second I’m given, wanting things “just so”. Having seen all but one of my immediate family die I learned that when the will goes, life goes. And sometimes you can’t “wish people back”–but it doesn’t mean life isn’t a damned hoot and damned precious as long as you can accept the terms.
Veb
- It seems to be about the natural human lifespan without the presence of modern ubermedicine, and more than enough time to accomplish everything I could hope to accomplish if I get my shit together. Much beyond that I think I’d just be delaying the inevitable out of fear. And after all, we don’t know if something superwonderful is waiting on the other side. Then again, I probably wouldn’t put a bullet in my brain on my fifty-first birthday either. So let’s just say I want to live until my first heart attack/stroke/cancer contraction, and then, unless I have some vitally important task to finish, I’d just like to let the universe reclaim my atoms like it seems to want.
I can’t really say…I want to live until I am tired of living. I think I might get tired of life after a thousand years or so, especially if things get to a point where technological advances and cultural changes slow to a near stop. I’d probably continue to live at that point anyway, because boredom would be preferable to the uncertainty of what comes after death, and because I’d convince myself that things would get interesting eventually.
I figure abot 70 should do it, as long as I stay in reasonable health. My 95 year old grnadmother keeps telling me how horrible it is to get old. She has been miserable for 25 years. I’m not going to repeat her performance, that’s for sure.
Longer than anyone else.
Die at 70? Not for me!
My grandma is 81 years old. She still lives on her own and drives a car. She works two jobs. She doesn’t need the money, she just likes to keep busy. She walks two miles after dinner every night.
I want to live as long as I can, hopefully until I die.
Agree with Max above. Gonna try for at least a thousand years, just to see if I get bored.
I want to live as long as I can get laid.
I do not believe I will get to 60 before the rapture happens.
But, to answer the question: as long as my son is alive.
Long enough to see my future children. Long enough to know my future grandchildren so that they rememeber me, I’m grateful that I knew my grandparents. I’m guessing that 70 would be old enough, my grandmother is 85, and she has so many health problems. I don’t want to live old enough to feel like a burden (Not to say that my grandmother is, but she says that s he is. Silly Grandma.).
Another ten years, tops.
That’ll give me enough time to write another three or four books, and I want to check out before my health and finances collapse. Got no kids, no husband and (after my mother dies) no one who will be inconvenienced by my Joining the Choir Invisible.
Yep, about ten years.
I will live forever. Or so long that it approaches forever functionally.
I see no need for me to die and, lacking any religious leanings, I see death as the end.