Vacationing in the Valley of the Shadow of Death

I'm sick. Well, maybe sick isn't the right word. More like writhing in pestilent agony.

I'm standing at Death's door and looking for the doorbell. I'm putting on my dancing shoes for the dance macabre with the legion of the underworld. I'm checking out paddles for my trip across the river Styx. I've got pen in hand to sign the deed to the farm. I'm confused about which side is the "other" side. I'm tuning my harp. I'm facing west for the last ride into the sunset.

Though my life slips through my fingers like sand, it is comforting to know that I've lost none of my sharp appreciation for drama and pathos.