I’ve reached a stage of life where I think about mortality almost as often as about sex.
Well, maybe not that often, but still, more than I used to. As Dr. Johnson noted, an unappealable deadline concentrates the mind wonderfully.

Anna’s gaze roved over the tightly clustered zinc roofs glinting in the sunlight like fish scales on the beach or, Ted thought, pieces of armor left scattered on a battlefield. (Stairways. Small Spiral Notebook, Spring 2006.)