What would you do tomorrow if nanobots could repair every mangled neuron? I would get in my car and drive to the coffee shop fifteen miles away and draw all afternoon. Then, I'd take a long road trip, no frequent peeing, no aches and pains, no mortal dread about the future. I'd stop and get a milkshake and watch fields of wildflowers move like river currents in the wind and cabbage butterflies tumbling over each other in the air, figuring out whatever they figure out when they do that. I just loved to look at things, for hours.
When I got back, I'd go to FL but just to visit. I would hit one of those profligate buffets where they have octopus salad and peanut chicken and sushi in the back and I'd eat three or four plates and not worry about not using the bathroom for three days or choking to death. Then I'd go out socially with my friends and laugh and talk and not worry about stuttering or moving my head involuntarily. At the end it would early morning and I would still feel awesome and we'd walk along the beach, watching the moon come up. Kant called it the sublime, when you stand in front of something so magnificent you can't wrap words around it. And the Sunday House for lunch the next day and scores of other things it would take up too much space to write about.
Finally, back to the grind. I'm not a tax parasite, I do my job so well, first to arrive and last to leave, helping the maintenance person clear trash from the playground or arranging for visitors to speak or give demonstrations. Their loudness no longer bothers me, and it's easy again to view them as amazing human beings I have the privilege of influencing. I start reading again, and working towards a degree in biology, and I can focus and enjoy all this amazing content we have endless access to. Six more years though, and I'm getting my little 1930s house off Atlantic Ave. I'll walk down to the beach every day, not worrying about going blind or stupid.
I would cry a lot out of sheer joy that I got my LIFE back, one that I never took for granted and although an atheist felt honored to live and very fortunate to see and do and experience so much. Why not me? Oh, I can think of lots of reasons, actually. It shouldn't be anyone, really.
When I got back, I'd go to FL but just to visit. I would hit one of those profligate buffets where they have octopus salad and peanut chicken and sushi in the back and I'd eat three or four plates and not worry about not using the bathroom for three days or choking to death. Then I'd go out socially with my friends and laugh and talk and not worry about stuttering or moving my head involuntarily. At the end it would early morning and I would still feel awesome and we'd walk along the beach, watching the moon come up. Kant called it the sublime, when you stand in front of something so magnificent you can't wrap words around it. And the Sunday House for lunch the next day and scores of other things it would take up too much space to write about.
Finally, back to the grind. I'm not a tax parasite, I do my job so well, first to arrive and last to leave, helping the maintenance person clear trash from the playground or arranging for visitors to speak or give demonstrations. Their loudness no longer bothers me, and it's easy again to view them as amazing human beings I have the privilege of influencing. I start reading again, and working towards a degree in biology, and I can focus and enjoy all this amazing content we have endless access to. Six more years though, and I'm getting my little 1930s house off Atlantic Ave. I'll walk down to the beach every day, not worrying about going blind or stupid.
I would cry a lot out of sheer joy that I got my LIFE back, one that I never took for granted and although an atheist felt honored to live and very fortunate to see and do and experience so much. Why not me? Oh, I can think of lots of reasons, actually. It shouldn't be anyone, really.
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