Yet my brain is also in full narcissistic mode at this hour and I'm forced to consider my own eventual death. What if I have a heart attack right now and die during these contemplations? When would my fate be discovered? Max is away for the next few weeks, so I find myself utterly alone. No one would be overly surprised if they didn't see me in the next few days. The first test is a wedding this weekend and missing that would be a conspicuous absence to be sure, but would anyone really follow up on it? More days pass and my mother would surely be annoyed now that I haven't returned her phone calls, but how long would it be before she realizes something is amiss? My bedroom is far enough away that I doubt any odor would penetrate the neighbors' apartments. It could very well be up to three weeks before anyone finds my mortal remains. I suddenly become embarrassed for not having left my apartment in a better state of cleanliness for those who make the gruesome discovery.
I hear a slight, unidentifiable repeating noise and vaguely recall myths of deathwatch beetles who are harbingers of that undiscovered country and wonder if I am, in fact, listening to their mating call. I feel an odd pang on the left side of my chest and am unable to determine if it's psychosomatic or real, and if the latter, what it signifies. I make immediate resolutions to eat better and exercise more and curse myself for not already following a healthier regimen.
The rational part of me tries to assert itself that this is all in my head but I'm left with hollow comfort. An even darker part of my psyche reassures me that I can't die yet, for if I do, the universe will be unable to torture me anymore and somehow this twisted logic makes sense. Or perhaps, I am already dead, haunting my room with dread thoughts for an eternity. I get up and turn the air conditioner higher hoping that a cooler temperature will lure me back to sleep as I wait for morning which can't come fast enough.