Bloganuary writing prompt: What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?

I want to note that I’m on two meds for depression, which could account for my more-than-rosy tone here (and on my worst days, it’s still meh, but at least I’m around to complain about it). Not everyone has that privilege, and I acknowledge that. I love y’all and I’m pulling for y’all. There’s no wrong answer to this question.

But what is my answer?

“Sweet.”

But I’ll want to know the caveats up front, because what’s a long life (or immortality) if you can’t do anything with it? And, you know, what’s the catch?

• Will you be taken care of?
• Is it one of those science fiction things where you’re a brain in a jar?
• Or a fantasy thing where you’re actually a vampire (and unless your story is set in Washington, can never set foot in the sun again)?
• Or the most likely scenario of strutting around a nursing home with your best friend?
• Will you still be of sound mind, if not body?
• Can you even afford to?
• Where is the fine print, Beelzebub!?

Despite the potential for Dubious Deals with Devils, Transhuman Technicalities, Monkey Paw Jackassery, Pitfalls of Capitalism, and whatever else you may think of… From where I’m sitting at this point of time, it sounds pretty dope.

You’ve done so much, and you can reflect and witness more history. You’ve more to experience and hell, even if it’s just existing and vibing, that’s still an experience. And the stories you can tell! To compare and contrast the then and here and now. To be a representation of an obtainable future for younger generations– I know, as a queer Black person, it is comforting to see an elder that has survived and continues to survive.

I wish to be that for someone else, too. The world may be against me, but I’m still here. Oh, and modems were real. Real slow.

I want to see the science fiction I grew up on finally become plain ol’ science. We’ll get those flying cars any day now. Just not anytime soon. And I’ll sign up for the cyborg program to extend my life another 100 years or something (provided that Elon Musk stays far, far away from the technology behind it; I’ll literally rather die than let him put chips in my brain).

I want to stick around to see if things get better. And if not? Well. You’re going to be hearing about it!

Anyway.

You know that bit where Sarah Lynn is on a talk show, spinning in a chair and declaring that she’s gonna live forever? That’s my answer, in a nutshell. Sign me the fuck up!

Oh.

I’m utterly terrified of death with a tendency to procrastinate. If I had it my way, I will be late to my own funeral (which, for the record, will be a party). So that’s probably a factor.