Understand that I feel fine, and have fond hopes of continuing to annoy the people I annoy, and even annoying some new ones, for many years to come. But many people in my demographic, resigning themselves to the inevitable, are composing their "bucket lists," or things they want to do before they purchase the agricultural acreage, so to speak.
This is the wrong approach. Dying is a serious business, and a sad one, and as the final video of your life passes before your eyes, do you really wanting to be thinking that you never kayaked around Alaska or had sex with Megan Fox? Whether your ambition was to be recognized as an epochal artist or you merely wanted to scale the grandest of the Grand Tetons, and then urinate off of it, the fact that you never did it before buying your E-Z Pass for the Tunnel of Light is bound to bum you out.
Thus, the Un-Bucket List, or things you'll never need to do before you assume the nipples-superior position forever. Rather than stressing about never hitting every disco in Europe before your organs shut down, you can start basking in a peace that approaches the eternal one contemplating all of the things you'll never have to bother to do or do again between now and the moment you get naturally de-selected. Here's mine:
Send an error report to Microsoft.
Build anything out of Lego's.
Attend the Iowa Caucuses. On second thought, let's make that attend anything in Iowa.
Listen to a song and actually recognize it's by Kanye West.
Dance like nobody's watching, because nobody is.
Go to a karaoke bar with someone who thinks they can sing.
Restrain myself from yelling "HEY! NOBODY DOES THAT ANYMORE!" when the person in front of me in the supermarket line pulls out a checkbook.
Feel momentarily inadequate when some web site says my password is "weak."
Wait for a local sports team to win anything.
Get hacked by China.
Check my credit score.
Eat anything just because there's no gluten in it.
Paint the inside of my closets, tile a floor or pick out a color for a rug. My closets, tiles and rugs are all fine.
Keep that box of receipts from the last century in case I get audited by the IRS.
Drink nine glasses of water a day. Every day. Screw that.
Worry about whether I'm smarter than my phone.
Get into the college of my choice.
Buy candy that fizzes or squirts or does anything except lie in your mouth and be chewed when you bite into it.
There's twenty of them. I could think of plenty more. You can think of your own, or use mine. I'm not proprietary about them. After all, I won't need them forever.