p-earfect sense

I was feeling a bit sad yesterday, before I got my ear syringed.

Yesterday when the lovely dokutela extracted a pound of ear wax from my ear, I morbidly thought (taken I was depressed and deaf): “What if he finds a tumour down there?”

Like, what if he found a great, big throbbing cancerous tumour so large and bulbous, the doctor would gasp in awe and pronounce, “Why, I've never seen something so large and carcinogenic in all my life! You have three weeks to live, Peas. Sorry about that.”

The scary thing is, I wouldn't be devastated. And I'm not certain the world would cry either.

Death only scares me in that the place I'll go to in the afterlife may have the likes of Slobodan Milosevic and Jack The Ripper in it, who aren't nice people. But death hardly scares me anymore.
It's got to be helluva less stressful or sad as life on Earth.

I mean, if I had three weeks to live due to Cancerous Ear Tumour, what's the worst that can happen? I don't pay SARS the money I owe them? (which I don't have?)

My car won't need to be serviced, it won't matter that I'm broke, I may not experience another broken heart, and I won't need to diet in time for summer. Also, I'll die while on holiday in the Seychelles, which wouldn't be such a bad way to pass now would it?

Morbid thoughts really, so I was almost disappointed when two giant globules of wax were flushed from my ear instead.
At least I can hear again. I realised how debilitating it is when you can't hear yourself talk, nevermind people around you.
Now it feels as clear as crystal. So that's super. I guess.