Ten minutes of certainty, ten years of indecision

I was talking to my mother last week about the books she's currently reading. I don't remember how we got started on the subject, but it doesn't matter. One of the books she's currently reading is The Measure by Nikki Erlick, and after she explained the premise to me, she asked the inevitable question. Well, more accurate to say she started to ask the inevitable question, because before she could finish it, I answered her. No, I don't want to know. If I had the opportunity to know, with absolute certainty, when or how I was going to die... I would not want to know. She looked a little surprised, I think. I've had problems with this sort of thing many times in the past. Someone asks me a question and I answer quickly. And the fact that I answered quickly upsets them more than what my answer was. They want me to think about it. They want me to stew. They want me to struggle. They expect me to be indecisive. But they don't expect... is that this is not the first time I've been presented…