The contemplation of death always calls a person into attention; making him assess the short years he lived, and making him consider if his mission in life is fulfilled, whether he'd go to heaven or hell, if he believes in such, or whether he'll simply drift into unconscious oblivion, decomposing in the rotten earth, forgotten.
These thoughts fluttered my meadow like multicolored butterflies as I transverse the past week, silently carrying lower back pains, frequent urination and paranoia of a possible UTI, high-blood pressure or some other complication. I'm scared of hospitals, no matter how fascinated I am of medical jargons and processes, and these currently felt pains have made me obsessive-compulsive about my health.
No harm in caring for your body though and the urinalysis I had yesterday has finally calmed my premonitions of dying early. Of course, you really can't tell when you'll die, but nonetheless, the thought can rest for the meantime-I think.