I had a dream last night were I had cancer. It was terminal and I was told I only had three months left to live, and strangely enough I didn't cry over this—I wasn't scared. In fact I was almost excited at the promise of death. It was so weird because I thought I was over wishing for death. Maybe I am done wishing for it. Maybe I just want a way out, but not enough to wish for one, not consciously at least.